12:53

It’s 53 minutes past midnight,

It’s 53 minutes into the next morning.

Somewhere between nights and mornings;

I have a song in my head.

These songs surface only at these times,

and today it is a sad melody.

A melody that I couldn’t ignore.

It demanded to be written;

and told,

and sung –

to unfaithful lovers,

who hid;

and lied.

Sad melodies are mostly honest.

And tonight it holds power over me,

keeps me awake.

My fingers flying;

all that’s inside me,

has tethered itself to this song.

With ropes so tight;

all thoughts –

all of them,

in cascading, effervescent and otherworldly beauty;

decide to let themselves out.

It’s almost by heaven’s decision,

that the song is a shout,

a cry,

a thing of beauty.

The likes of which could take over the world,

and make men weep.

For joy and hope,

but mostly for the beauty.

Because men seem to love things of beauty.

This song was just that.

A thing of beauty.

 

Advertisements

Because no one loved December like I did

No one loved December like I did, I’d notice her every shade; change in Autumn’s wonder.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was rude and asked for embraces.

No one loved December like I did, white suited her well but her snow was traded for summer.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was unpredictable, weather was a joke to her.

No one loved December like I did, she played cupid on Christmas but the romance ended there.

No one did quite lover her,

Because she stole; sweaters, warmth and the sun.

No one loved December like I did, she helped build resolutions that weren’t easy.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was close to the new year, and everything was older.

No one loved December like I did, she made best friends visit beaches; only for a day.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was always last and late, and she enjoyed the wait.

No one loved December like I did, beds awaited their partners and comforters sang lullabies with her.

No one did quite love her,

Because come the next morning, the two were inseparable.

No one loved December like I did, she’d let the hair grow out from under the depths of human skin.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was unapologetic in her ways.

No one loved December like I did, she gave birth to me; along with a box full of disappointments.

No one did quite love her,

They loved me neither.

After all, December’s child was bound to grow up like her.