Content warning: suicide.
Ferry Poems
I
Is what's lost ever truly lost?
Or simply overlooked in the heart
of the sky; Each star, a reminder.
And how can anyone change?
The way stars die
in the time it takes to say I love you;
We’re not alive, but eternal.
XVIII
If I must die
Let me live inside a book.
I write because I cannot speak;
And I tell stories because I cannot dream.
XVII
I watch the flames intently
And wonder; how does it feel?
To be caressed with such ferocity;
Flames are not monopolized by hell.
They rise inside your love.
XIX
I fear that I will never find a home in someone’s heart.
I will forever; wander
Softly at the edge of eternity;
A solitary soul.
I Saw Her
A star inside my soul collapses;
Forging a galactic paint of elements and energy;
Her flesh is golden;
Created surely by a supernova;
The sun rises in my chest;
A rhythmic crash of waves on rocky shores.
XXVII
Your home is filled with spices.
Your laughter smells of saffron and mint,
You are a new music to me,
The kind that rises with candle smoke.
XVII
Love is found In the interludes between words.
The rhythmic thump
Of your heart In our silence.
My head lies gently on your chest,
And I am home.
The Journey of My Inner Child
I
A field of purple and white flowers lies at the edge of a thick forest
In the field sits a small boy
His legs are crossed underneath him
I can hear a faint whimper escape his lips
His eyes are swollen and red
His body racked with sobs
I rest my hand on his shoulder
You are enough.
II
I stare at myself in the mirror
The small boy stared back
The tears are gone from his eyes
I feel his pain rise in my chest
Tightness grips my body
Tears drop down my face
The small boy smiled at me
You are worthy.
III
An old man stands in the middle of a tall grass field
The sun is rising at the end of the valley
He leans in his cane with both hands
A slight stoop in his back
I wade through the hip deep grass
I stand beside him in the brisk morning air
Silently we watch two ravens
They soar above us and their loud caws echo in the morning air
The old man looks at me
His face is kind
Riddled with dry creek beds
Made from smiles and laughter
He places his hand gently on my shoulder
Everything will be okay
You are good enough.
XLI
Your hands run through my hair,
I feel your lips mix with mine,
Our bodies become one as we roll around our bed,
Your touch is still the spark that lights my fire,
Even if yours burns bright for another.
XV
Carefully, you knit my heart
Together with the ropes
I used to hang myself
From the roof.
Fibres once used to take my life
Now weave it back together.
Standing at the ocean’s edge,
I fall fast and hard for you all over again.
You kissed me like you knew I needed a miracle;
A reminder of what is lost.
By Griffin Wilson.
