When I Fell in Love - Olive Murray
Perhaps I fell in love when I was far too young, when February rains had not yet
turned the ground; no bright, new flowers had been painted in by the spring.
I fell in love when I was fresh and gently preened,
new, raw feathers flushed by a late September sunset, red glow bypassed
to turn the whole world pink. Then rainclouds razed the earth
cracked lightning in their grasp to scream thunderous loud; each plink
spraying frosted bolts against its blackest countenance. Rain wet the ground
and then turned tail beneath the wings of caustic winter snow.
My young heart beat so fast and out of tune - perhaps the yawn of his mouth
erased my love of loneliness - perhaps when I felt out of my lovers arms
and hit the ground at speed - was this when I realized:
nineteen is far too young to try to count forever when you only have ten fingers?
His brunet eyes and walnut hair gripped tight inside my soul; just as the
dusty rose of his matching lips and palms felt fast my physicality.
Our soft breaths would weep, like icicles in sunrise painted March mornings,
cold breath licking your neck, burnt fast
with crayon dusted hips reminding of a youth we both passed by.
Perhaps too young is always too subjective.
Existing past the moonbeam dreams with pick up where the sunrise ends;
where twenty-two is quiet like the frosted ground I first spoke heavy words in,
and loud like the music that loses me within it.
I've given my dreams a lot of thought, their printed steel lifitng beyond where
daylight lives. I contemplate the meaning of tomorrow, when rusted metal
meets the shallow grave of memories forgotten. My dreams of you fade fast in early mornings, though my memories linger; a silent greyscape which slips by like
sand through wetted fingers. They hollow out my heart, which filled heavy at leaving.
Perhaps I fell in love too young, when April showers brought fast grown flowers,
and strength blossomed in my dandelion heart at twenty-one.
When I Fell in Love by Bella Murray
turned the ground; no bright, new flowers had been painted in by the spring.
I fell in love when I was fresh and gently preened,
new, raw feathers flushed by a late September sunset, red glow bypassed
to turn the whole world pink. Then rainclouds razed the earth
cracked lightning in their grasp to scream thunderous loud; each plink
spraying frosted bolts against its blackest countenance. Rain wet the ground
and then turned tail beneath the wings of caustic winter snow.
My young heart beat so fast and out of tune - perhaps the yawn of his mouth
erased my love of loneliness - perhaps when I felt out of my lovers arms
and hit the ground at speed - was this when I realized:
nineteen is far too young to try to count forever when you only have ten fingers?
His brunet eyes and walnut hair gripped tight inside my soul; just as the
dusty rose of his matching lips and palms felt fast my physicality.
Our soft breaths would weep, like icicles in sunrise painted March mornings,
cold breath licking your neck, burnt fast
with crayon dusted hips reminding of a youth we both passed by.
Perhaps too young is always too subjective.
Existing past the moonbeam dreams with pick up where the sunrise ends;
where twenty-two is quiet like the frosted ground I first spoke heavy words in,
and loud like the music that loses me within it.
I've given my dreams a lot of thought, their printed steel lifitng beyond where
daylight lives. I contemplate the meaning of tomorrow, when rusted metal
meets the shallow grave of memories forgotten. My dreams of you fade fast in early mornings, though my memories linger; a silent greyscape which slips by like
sand through wetted fingers. They hollow out my heart, which filled heavy at leaving.
Perhaps I fell in love too young, when April showers brought fast grown flowers,
and strength blossomed in my dandelion heart at twenty-one.
When I Fell in Love by Bella Murray
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