poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “dark”

time and again

I keep those long-lived regrets
wrapped tight and away from the light
placed in the deep freeze
the furthermost corner of my mind

those days sitting on the cold tiled floor
gluing back together eggshells are no more
replaced by looking around and
seeking light emanating from
every single living thing

relaxed by warm shadows lengthening
from the fading summer’s sun
I imagine things have a way of working out
if we only allow impending events
to unfold as nature intended

from the seed to the stem to the beauty
blossoming from the light of day
we capture alive the fleeting moments
forever freezing them time and time again

march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

riding shotgun

i left the house unlocked
with all the lights on
and ventured down the hill
in the dark and in the cold

within minutes a warmth
surprised my cool thoughts
as the faraway wall of clouds
evolved into pink and red
and purple and blue

as my meandering mind
marched further away
a bright red fire truck
appeared out of nowhere
blasting its dominant horn
and racing to save the day

a trio of three dogs named
java and cocoa and sally
halted in their tracks
as if envious of the dalmatian
sitting at attention and
riding shotgun

january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Cries in the Dark

Now that the house is empty
I easily awaken from cries
in the dark, sneaking in
through the bedroom window
on a cool, autumn morning.

I roll out of bed at four a.m.
and rush to the window
like a child on Christmas Eve;
eyes focused on the house
across the street, a lone light
leaking through the drawn shade.

Once the child has grown quiet
from his mother’s magical touch,
I crawl back to bed, wondering
where my own children might be
and if they ever think of me
when hearing cries in the dark.

july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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