The Ferris Wheel
sweet pancakes;
we once dressed it
with hersheys syrup and honey -
endless comments about ramsay.
fireflies - awake and they glowed weakly.
sleepovers; the nights were too short,
i could not call it a sleep.
dull yellow: a color we both loved,
admiring its hues in collections from gucci.
the ferris wheel;
a ride i took when i was three.
twelve, i was then. you were seventeen -
we were young and naive.
a cart we sat in, lifted us up,
and we saw the world. it was beautifully confusing.
you defined it 'beauty'.
kindled a fire. sparks never died out,
like the friday barbeque we once did, with friends.
the beach was quiet that night,
but i hear it whispering.
collected shells, tinted in pinks - it was littered
for us. i knew it then - it was beauty.
a feather in the air, from a bird's wing.
we dreamt of travelling,
to the heart of turkey, the streets of italy.
backpackers - we played pretend.
i neither liked nor hated korean music,
but it was love - its lyrics were words we both adored.
warm coats. blue jackets. rosy cheeks.
amusement parks; we called it home.
starbucks - hot chocolate we'd always been consuming.
angry winds, but we still kept smiling.
the ferris wheel;
the ride we'd taken -
the last petal falling. the flower's wilting.
it was over and you stepped out,
i was still in. the cart lifted me up,
and i can't see you.
i can't, anymore.
but if i leave before or after fifty,
a brown bag - scrawled, my poetry.
within, dried yellow roses will be...
sitting where you reside.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten | Poetry & Prose
PoetryH.R #3 IN TOLD | A collection of the told and untold, the hidden and revealed, but everything - all this and everything else - written down in solemn words, in phrases, compiled and collected as poetry and prose.
