Images of Us

Time and time again reflecting on the tragedies
Broken hearted souls bleeding blue-inked parodies,
Rocking back and forth singing songs of the memories,
Never once forget, never ever lose the melodies.
Life, it is a song, once written all wrong,
Pouring verses into verses, into stanzas years long.
Ever wonder how the heart stings,
Writing what the voice sings,
Condensing what the mind thinks,
Just to hear the words ring?
Even voices won’t do justice to the pain and the agony
The man in his mind thunk thrice to make his symphony.
Wrote the songs as an outlet for the foul scented memories
And in your own life his songs become epiphanies.
Nodding, wondering  what you could’ve done differently
Showing all too clearly that she drained you emotionally
But then  is gone and this is now, lets not repeat the history
Your heart, soul, mind still hidden; such a mystery.
Luring in the dark like shadows in the night, 
All I ever hear are those words you never write.
It’s been some years and the furthest I have come,
Is to know you still exist and that you leave me feeling numb.
We all do this sometimes, we never say if we care.
Walk away from the scene, from the things we can’t bare.
Portray an image so strong, standing sturdy and tall
Never letting one in to know the truth of it all.
The brokenness, the fear, the memories that haunt us.
The failures, the  loss, and the people that taunt us,
Nothing seems to faze us, not their words or their status
But one thing for sure between us, is everything but trust.
Our heads held high, our smiles plastered on,
I’ll let the church bells chime, you blast your favourite song.
“Rolling with the punches” in our own unique ways,
And I won’t try deny, that I thought of you today.
But then I shrugged it all off, just like you would’ve done,
Believe me when I say  its easier said than done.
And before the time arises, for this to spring forth
I buried in my heart, and commenced to head north.
I could follow my star, and should you follow yours too
If they lead us back to here, then we’ll know it’s me and you.
Meanwhile I’ll still be writing the letters I’ll never send,
If there are words left unsaid, mine will be here till the end.
This is how I smile, laugh, shout, cry and plead.
Instead of getting burnt I let my pen bleed.
I’ll leave my thoughts on paper, until I’m face to face with death
And I hope you never wonder, like I do with every breath.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda, never cut the chase.
Let’s live out lives on purpose, for regrets let’s leave no space.
Lets run our own races and not run them in vain,
Leave the rest to imaginations until we meet again.

R. A. Douglas

Novembe 15, 2012.