This is a poem I wrote a little while back. I don't want to give you the theme, because I like people to come to their own conclusions about what my poetry/ creative work is about.
A Hope
The sky throws off gilded robes, exposes her charcoal frame,
and cradles her pallid lover, whose face shines bright white despite his scars.
And you’re here,
with me
on this soft, grassy hill, cradled in a Sycamore canopy, looking out over the sea.
Salt, swimming in cold air stings our noses, and the last mosquitos bite our bare asses.
And you’re here,
with my head in your lap,
running delicate fingers through my thinning hair.
Time is passing,
and you say you’ve found a gray.
Time is passing,
and our bodies are wrinkling,
wasting away.
Time is passing,
as pink and gold return to the Earth, and the Sun draws closer.
It’s hungry,
swallowing the sky and her lover, feasting on celestial delicacies
and it’s getting hotter.
The sun is swelling and coming towards us,
but we don’t look because it doesn’t matter.
Not anymore, because we have,
we are a memory.
Embraced, we throw our hands toward the sun,
our memory into the cosmos,
confidently asserting that, if that memory is found,
is stumbled upon by some great force beyond the glittering twilight,
it will not be the memory of the tragic fools,
staring skyward,
eyes scorched by the embers,
throats choked with the ashes of a heaven we never attained,
but of mad, brazen lovers
tangled in each other’s limbs,
three fatal words leaping from our arid tongues,
parting weary lips,
whispered with our final breaths;
that it may stand, an epitaph for a species
testifying that once, if only once,
we loved as vigorously, as passionately as we destroyed.
We hope
a hope, no doubt against reason
that in this, our aged season
we might marry this hope to that reason
and be the memory humanity deserves;
should hope to be.
