jynastar

thanks for the kissy mikey.
back at you
i had a really boring day. nothing worth writing about. i can post this poem i wrote if anyone wants to read it.
this is for all you musicans out there...

-untitled- (give it a name if you want)
delicate spirals of black decend down his cheeks
masking the warmth of his golden eyes
flushed, reddedned with frustration
as the pen sawys back and forth in his hand
scratching away in malicious form raised a racket
like the scattering of beetles trapped
he looks over his shoulder
tears the ivory leaf from his sketchbook and
it passes through the air like a broken dove body etched with black veins
that were once words
it falls with a sickening plop on the floor at my feet
on dark brown linoleum that no one likes but it came with the apartment

i wished just for a moment to hear his voice
soft like the first pink light rising over the morning horizon
strong like the tinkle of a silver bell in the night
instead it remained locked up tight in the prison of his vocal cords
like a tower strangling off its sound
and in muted fits of temper he tossed the heather gray sketchbook at his feet
stomped into the kitchen tugging at the handle of the ivort fridge
that fought to remain in its idle postion
i almost broke the silence laughing as his elongated fingers grapsed desperatley tugging
until he nearly toppled on the floor
"damn door! why didny you ever fix that?"

but his silken tone padded the blow of the cuss
still behind the frustration a smile tugged at the cupids bow of his lips
and he dropped back on the floor
the mossy brown carpeted workstation and tried again
the heather gray book swung open with a slight creak of its hinge
an ebony pen plump with a dark river of ink swung in his slim fingertips
his excaliber
and without a work passing
between the cherry red of his twitching pout
the melodic tune transcribed
emulating the thoughts inside
it penetrates the ivory leaves again

i found myself mocking his stature as i fell on the couch
wishing for just a spark of the fire ignited behind those golden eyes to catch flame in me
a murmur rises up off the floor
floating on invisable fingers of the wind
sweeping slowly through the opened window
and the sweet song meets my ear
peering down on the cherub he grins
"so do you like that"
anticipation, expectation rises
a barriet grown through the crack in the floorboards
my tempeture rises five degrees as a warm flush
like humidity after a long autumn rain takes over my body
how could i not like it
for everything he writes is golden in my mind

and stuttering the words fall fat and pregnant from my lips
like drops of sweetness and spices
like dew on the roses outside in the flower box staring into the setting sun
the praise inst what he wanted to hear
i can see from the way he cocks his head to the side
as if a silver wolf listening to the song of the night
he sighs heavily
his tiny ribcage collasping into his folded arms
as if seeking protection from my postive vibes
telepathy between us tells me he wanted constructive critism
"you always say that is good. i dont want to be good. i want to be wonderful"

finding fault in my message
its hard to make him realize there are not words to express my true feelings
the poetry of song that i could use to praise his art
but it means nothing
there are not enough autumn leaves in the dusky night in red, and orange, and golden
like his peering eyes at me
to compare the elegance of his art
there are not enough winged birds chasing over the deep blue waters
lost in their own game of chase
to compare his impact on me
there are not enough moments in life as touching as the smile
he offered simply as he made fun of my inability to express my bottled feelings

only once in life comes someone that you truly admire
for all the copper pennies i'd tossed in wishing wells as a child
dreaming and praying to whatever deity might hear my song
i never though i would find this
a muse that completed the fragmented pieces in my own life
and although he may not believe in himself
as much as i believe in him
there was a feeling beyong words that communicated
what i was fighting to say
frustrated he threw up his hands
let them float back to his sides like folded wings
his slim fingers grabbed at excaliber
again the scratching furiously on ivory leaf

*sorry for the typos...too many people iming me