'Spoken' Youth poem

My Darling
Under the apple tree
Freckled cheeks red with sun
Swell into a smile
She sees me

I am the wind in her hair
The chime in her laughter
 The shine in her eyes
The smile through her tears

I am the strength when she trips
The goodnight kiss
The new speech lisp

My Darling
Under the apple tree
Eyes full of sorrow
Grow with tears
She sees me
No longer

I'm the abandoned swing
The dust
On an old photograph
Hanging wonky on the wall

I am life before the truth
Before the Change
The box of toys in the attic
The crayon stain on the dresser

Remember me as I was
Not as you see me now
Return to me
My Darling
Under that old apple tree

Random thing I found

Rain. More rain seemed to fall every day. Surely the sky would run out of water soon? Drops splattered against the window, before running down and grouping in my now empty flower boxes. I was relieved about having saved my plants a few nights previously.

I looked down at his ring, it was just too big to fit on my finger properly so during the day I wear it on one of the chains he left behind. The ring was silver, a snake wrapped around my finger with a pair of tiny rubies for eyes. Running my finger over it I felt the detail of every scale, the metal cool beneath the warmth of my fingertips. I looked again out of the window, wishing, half hoping to see him walk up the driveway, dripping wet from the rain. I'd run out to meet him, not worrying about the wet or cold. I felt his phantom arms wrap tightly around my waist, thinner now than when I last saw him. His phantom face nuzzle into my neck. His phantom voice lulled my ears and I closed my eyes to take in the illusion my mind had created. Though I knew it was an illusion, it comforted me still. I longed for his presence overall. I wished to know when I might see him again.

We'd had no contact in days. I often read through our past messages just to remind myself on how he typed, how he spoke. I shook my head at the memory of how I'd always correct his grammar, but he never changed it. I guessed that I'd liked that about him.

Childhood Memory Poem

____________________

Choking and spluttering out angry black smoke
the thick vibrations of the great machine
hid my shakes of fear as he
jumped out, leaving me stranded in motion.

Alone in the metal match box
the four year old me screamed, not noticing
the one who left me
was merely walking alongside
chuckling at his version of a joke.

The red box of death continued
up the field it went.
Until he jumped back in
pushing me aside
and so my deserter became my rescuer.