She moves much faster
than her imagination can process.
Prolific she perceives her decisions.
Non-traditional her tradition.
Trademark of the confused spirit
searching for the answer without inquiry.
She lost the directions
the moment she ignored the destination.
Beauty as grand as hers
endears her to every type of guy.
I was unusually shy when we met.
Nights we'd never ever forget
blanketed by a sky brighter than the corners.
Umbrella perched high without raindrops.
Rooftops always have the best view.
My world always appeared new
even when she couldn't see it.
Asked her if she'd like to hear a secret
but her nature I couldn't subdue.
The worst discoveries are always true.
Cloaked in rain,
her pain sticks to her
instead of washing away.
What could I possibly say
if my time has come and gone?
She is seated in the discomfort
that is the loneliness of her throne
and I've settled in as serf already.
Deadly the deeds of a contorted past.
The desire that engulfed it all
became an aimless fireball
hardly stalled by the squalls.
She's complicating.
Her own worst slice of hell
distinguished by dizzy spells
and onlookers when she fell.
Sour stomachs, soaking pores
yet she's on pace for some more.
Lonesome chore of cold resentment
searching for a taste of contentment.
Commitment the holy grail.
Worn herself rugged and frail.
We lock eyes and all can tell
who looks blush and who is pale.
Fairy tales in her perception.
Nothing real by her detection.
She was never a true fan.
I wonder how much she'd understand.
Grand the mystery called love
packaged in the book of life.
Strife the savior of the weak.
I pray this is not her peak.
We don't speak much but we talk.
Minds and hearts walk in the past.
One or the other must last
long enough to survive regret.
I still want to tell my secret.
The secret……
that we breathe and sigh in colors.
Black and white are there for spite
but the light that meets my eyes
should only come as a surprise
to show her how I once saw her.
How she once saw herself, rather.
I still see those lights today
albeit under shades of grey
that she's fashioned from her disappointment.
Her moves are so disjointed
that the warning signs read "Welcome."
We can only guess the outcome.
Yet and still, the overkill.
She moves much faster
than her imagination can process.
Prolific she perceives her decisions.
Non-traditional her tradition.
Not prophetic by any means
but these color coded dreams
lose a hue or two
with every spinning change in her agenda.
Twisting fast within the blender
sweetened with what was remembered
of a past that faded fast.
Threw the rest out with the trash.
If my wishes would enlist me,
rather than having her kiss me
or hoping that she would miss me,
I just don't want her to be dizzy.
Not anymore.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
endears her to every type of guy.
I was unusually shy when we met.
Nights we'd never ever forget
blanketed by a sky brighter than the corners.
Umbrella perched high without raindrops.
Rooftops always have the best view.
My world always appeared new
even when she couldn't see it.
Asked her if she'd like to hear a secret
but her nature I couldn't subdue.
The worst discoveries are always true.
Cloaked in rain,
her pain sticks to her
instead of washing away.
What could I possibly say
if my time has come and gone?
She is seated in the discomfort
that is the loneliness of her throne
and I've settled in as serf already.
Deadly the deeds of a contorted past.
The desire that engulfed it all
became an aimless fireball
hardly stalled by the squalls.
She's complicating.
Her own worst slice of hell
distinguished by dizzy spells
and onlookers when she fell.
Sour stomachs, soaking pores
yet she's on pace for some more.
Lonesome chore of cold resentment
searching for a taste of contentment.
Commitment the holy grail.
Worn herself rugged and frail.
We lock eyes and all can tell
who looks blush and who is pale.
Fairy tales in her perception.
Nothing real by her detection.
She was never a true fan.
I wonder how much she'd understand.
Grand the mystery called love
packaged in the book of life.
Strife the savior of the weak.
I pray this is not her peak.
We don't speak much but we talk.
Minds and hearts walk in the past.
One or the other must last
long enough to survive regret.
I still want to tell my secret.
The secret……
that we breathe and sigh in colors.
Black and white are there for spite
but the light that meets my eyes
should only come as a surprise
to show her how I once saw her.
How she once saw herself, rather.
I still see those lights today
albeit under shades of grey
that she's fashioned from her disappointment.
Her moves are so disjointed
that the warning signs read "Welcome."
We can only guess the outcome.
Yet and still, the overkill.
She moves much faster
than her imagination can process.
Prolific she perceives her decisions.
Non-traditional her tradition.
Not prophetic by any means
but these color coded dreams
lose a hue or two
with every spinning change in her agenda.
Twisting fast within the blender
sweetened with what was remembered
of a past that faded fast.
Threw the rest out with the trash.
If my wishes would enlist me,
rather than having her kiss me
or hoping that she would miss me,
I just don't want her to be dizzy.
Not anymore.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
How beautifully melancholy. I feel I know her, I've been her, and I've seen her. Fighting her battle of self worth, finding her self, and losing her self all at the same time. I love your insight into the human soul. This is HANDS DOWN my favorite from you. Bravo.
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