Storm
I lie alone in the dark, and wait.
The moonlight penetrates the blinds, and
dances around me.
The rain pours outside and plays it's
seductive melody.
I slide the door open gently, and the
breeze caresses my skin.
I unhook my bra and it falls to the floor.
I walk outside and the rain's fingers
fondle my skin.
I lean back and the cold wall finds hear
from my bare back.
I watch as the lightning plays it's game.
Every minute somewhere new, carefully
choosing it's next victim.
The thunder listens, waits, and laughs
as the victims fall.
I light a cigarette, and the smoke fills
my lungs.
I exhale slowly, and the smoke dances
with rain.
Little satisfaction gained, I throw
it to the ground,
and a puddle swallows it.
I walk to the balcony's edge, and touch
the bar softly.
I lean on it, and my breasts engulf it's
coldness.
The door opens, the waiting done.
He walks in.
Seeing I am outside, he comes to
me.
His arms wrap around me, and his hands
take my breasts.
His touch is ice, and his lips are frozen.
He turns me around with his hands all
over.
I try to speak, but all I hear is the
laughing thunder,
calling me a fool.
He unzips my jeans, and he tears at my
underwear.
He pulls me to the ground,
and my back is swallowed by the puddle.
He moves vigorously, and his eyes are
on fire.
I try to smile, but I can't anymore.
He enters inside, and screams out her
name,
over and over.
Does he know my name?
Does she know about me, as I know
about her?
His hands run over my bare body,
and the rain hits my face.
He puts my hands on his body,
but then they go limp and fall to the
ground.
His movements are always the same,
and his hands are always cold.
He kisses me once more, and goes inside,
leaving me on the ground.
I hear him talking on the phone, talking
to her,
telling her how much he misses her,
and that he'll see her soon.
The breeze chills my bones,
and the rain sucks the last warmth from
my body.
He comes outside, mutters something, and
then is gone.
I lie there, and the wind picks up.
It's been cold in my heart so long,
this night doesn't hurt.
His heart is frozen, colder than ice.
The fire in his eyes is for someone else
now.
He has stolen all my heat,
and he won't let me go.
I rise slowly,
and the memory of the night imprints itself
in my mind.
I look over the edge of the balcony,
and my heart freezes, and falls to the
ground,
the wind carries it up to the lightning,
and I watch it go, longing for it
to stay.
The sidewalk calls to me from so far below.
The thunder laughs as the lightning begins
its game.
They are calling their next victim.
My muscles move unwillingly.
I beg them to get me over the bar, and
they do.
I sit on the bar for awhile, hearing the
calls,
letting the wind dance with me.
The storm has played it's game,
and the lightning has won.
My heart is no longer mine,
and all my heat has gone.
My tears begin to fall
and the mist overcomes my thoughts,
and I fall into the darkness,
hopelessly lost.
the rustic gates
Information about the first Illusionist!
the definition of illusionism
the evolution of my poetry
a scroll of poem titles
naviation of non-illusionistic sites
a scroll of entertainment of a illusionistic nature
A poem by a modest friend