Next Time Around

Oliver Amatist
Jul 20, 2017 · 2 min read

If you were a moon and I was a star,

Light years would appear days apart.

As asteroids pierce your skin,

I witness craters withholding slips of consciousness

And it’s brisk.

Symmetrical to Mother Nature’s kiss.

I can see through broken bars on the jail walls you live in.

With a cross eye view of shooting stars, I ask if you’ve been forgiven?

You blurted out without sight or sound, “Such is living.”

God only knows what you have been reading.

With a distant view of the crater’s few bite marks

I insinuate we navigate to a safe place where we can discuss.

The future of us.

I do not want to fix you.

Future comets exist where I have kissed you.

I just wish you knew, who you are.

It’s not often you see a shooting star in the pupils of someone’s scar.

I might lie and say I’ve travelled far a wide

Seeking bite marks in someone’s eye,

But I haven’t.

I’ve been thinking of you and how your smile could heal one thousand words

Existing for years in a twilight source.

Light is alive and I do not need to force myself to have faith in this.

When planets align I see spectrums of mind you exist with.

Pigments don’t lie, they vibrate with time and combine to form the words know as,

“I love you.”

And you know,

I love you.

I look forward to the days when hazel sonnets depict stories of those comets

Passing through the few moments we had.

We were in tune with the rainbow fumes that sprinkle color on Earth’s sunsets,

But I wasn’t fully capable of maximizing the potential between us.

Harvest moons rarely bloom in Saturn’s womb,

But on this day.

I consume all the truths you assume exist within me.

I just hope you are not trying to fix me.

The common theme of the bursting stars we see

And the covenant between you and me,

Is that I am alive,

But I am melting

In between the variations of dreams and surging memories

I see in the daylight.

On Halloween, fog rolls in from your grave site and follows me.

Haunting.

Chills rise through my spine as I cradle reasons why you passed on.

It is calming,

To think of the distance between us because life moves fast, but death is within us.

Awareness exists as an essence.

Your presence protects all the moments we never captured on film.

I beginning to see confetti photographs raining down on our past as I dance.

I dance because I forgive you.

I hope this resonates,

Because mother nature has no grave and she has kissed you.

One day, I will return to the Earth and you will say, “Hey, I think I’ve met you before…

I don’t know where, or when, but you have the face of a familiar friend.”

I will laugh, ever so slightly, as Father Time has likely placed your image

In our collective memory.

)
Oliver Amatist

Written by

Spoken Word, Pastel and Piano Artist in Seattle Washington. Instagram: Oliver Amatist Youtube: Oliver Amatist