Young Writers Society

22. dedication
Love like an ocean
in over your head
so great a devotion
no matter the tears you shed
not just infatuation
a bond strong and true
genuine dedication
i say all these things for you

23. candlelight
some call love a flame
but why would one’s love
be compared to a destructive heat
an uncontrollable burn
all flames eventually
reduce to ashes
though i do see small inklings of their point
for your love gives me warmth;
a comforting glow
and sometimes
i melt away
as if you sit atop a charred wick
burning away gently
perhaps the mask i wear
is made of wax
for it is gone now
i need not wear it around you

24. He has a green thumb
a love one has never felt before
compassion reaching the heights of the sycamore
not just pure coincidence, no it’s a sign
kindness surpassing needles of the pine
love and mercy, my God is good
larger and greater than any redwood
Power and honor above all of these
carefully crafted each one of our trees…

and more

25. zephyr
nestled in a hug
taking a deep breath
of inexplicable happiness
for this sweet aroma
of freshly carved wood
the richness of an oak
or eucalyptus swaying in the breeze
softened by the sweetness
of coconuts buried in the warm sand
a sharp mint smeared through
i open my eyes
my face buried between the folds of fabric

26. stars
artificial lights
drown out our sky’s
already twinkling pinholes

how is one meant to see
when the beams are blinding
in the rearview mirror

27. daisies; innocence & new beginnings
There is a place where the daisies bloom
And the sun rests softly on the horizon
Laying its head gently on the mountains
Blanketed by clouds
As it dozes off peacefully
The vibrant green fields
Fading into a cool darkness

This place only is found
When one leaves another
This one; withered, parched
Fractures webbing from the hard desert clay
Where rivers once ran
Only dust and ashes remain
A dead silence interrupted only by
Searing winds and tornados
The rustling sand weathering you away

The soft patter of footsteps
Into this dim ambient night
Illuminated by the pale brightness of the moon
And flickering fireflies
Resembling the pinhole stars
As the wind sighs over the plains
Though we’ve traveled far
It will never be the same

28. the main character’s love interest
you make me feel like the girl
the narrator always talks about
with articulate detail
one with the cinnamon eyes
like wells of water;
deep-- easy to get lost in
or with caramel dipped hair
that he says to be
soft and silky
like a baby’s blanket
that girl that smells like
a poured chocolate drizzle
on vanilla ice cream
the one he’d say
is beautiful all the time
no matter her state
or the one that makes him
laugh uncontrollably
as she presses her fingers
right to his tickle spot
though he hates it
he still loves her
so tells her over and over
i will never tire of it

29. tickled mirth
i get a different glimpse of you
from this new point of view
as you begin with your titters
small beginnings of convulsed laughter--
laughter i've never heard this way
this one; joyful and wild

playful poking
until you're rolling on the floor
i apologize--
your smiling cheeks
push the tears out of your eyes--
but we both know i'm not all that sorry

30. when i blow you kisses, will you catch them?
you’re unlike any other romantic trope i’ve read of
i spent days as a young girl
dreaming of my first love
yet this is nothing of what i expected
in fact, it’s better than my childhood expectations
as my naive self mooned over those couples
that take long walks on the beach
sharing kisses under the sunset [though there’s
nothing wrong with these]
i find that i cherish our laughs
[over the most childish things;
the bizarre expressions you send me, your face
barely peeking into the frame of the photo]
i pine over your awkwardness
[as the acrylic covered paintbrush
slips through your fingers]
i’m in love with your mannerisms
[especially when you run into the wall
just to make me laugh]
and the way you hold my hands [it’s far more
romantic when we turn it into a thumb war]
or the gentle kisses you give me [only to stop me
from tickling you]
or the way you flirt [just to
get me to hug you-- or pummel you lovingly]
it seems almost as if
every poem i write is for you
since you’re a dear wish
that’s actually come true
so as we bid our farewells
at the end of our [finger tangled] day
i watch you [in the passenger seat
from my front door]
putting my hand to my mouth;
sending forth my love for you
you put your hand own out [the window,
fingers stretched]
and place your palm over your lips