. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

I Follow You With a Broken Heart

I follow you with a broken heart,
peering around corners and over fences,
looking through the cracks in your blinds,
through the key hole in your door,
I sit where you sat,
and smell the clothes you leave behind,
I trace your tiny footsteps,
and wonder what you were thinking
       as your feet fell nonchalantly there,
I listen for your breath,
and smile when I catch your voice on the wind,
aching to taste the words that once perched
       upon your tongue,
I trace the banister in your building with my fingers,
hoping to feel some vanished touch,
as if I can hold your hand through the polished metal
       when only mine is reflected now,
I am always behind you,
and each person you meet twists inside me
       like the dagger in my soul,
the blood of which seeps from my eye’s corner
       to fall as a tear in the dark where no one can see.


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