My Leaves are All Dead | Haiku | Short Poem 105

My Leaves are All Dead.
Strangers Trample Underfoot.
As Morning, I Wake.

MY Leaves Are All Dead
Photo by Emil Widlund on Unsplash

My Leaves are All Dead.
Strangers Trample Underfoot.
In Morning, I Wake.

I Died in Your Arms Tonight

© Joey Who? and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

I Died in Your Arms Tonight | Short Poem No. 103

died in your arms tonight
Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

It felt like I died in your arms tonight.
And you told me it was merely a dream.
Why was it wrong to assume it was right?
Why was it wrong to miss you when you leave?

You asked, What did I crave in all of this?
Was my thirst only amused with a game?
Because sometimes death is sealed with a kiss.
I have barely even told you my name.

I sat on the earth, staring at the sky.
All our stars fell and I only laid still.
But if I cross your mind again tonight,
Don’t faze yourself presuming how I feel.

It felt like I died in your arms tonight.
And you told me it was merely a dream.

Your Heart Was Not Mine?

© Joey Who? and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

Your Heart was Not Mine? | Short Poem No. 104

“You swore to me that your heart was not mine.
So why cry, babe, when I leave every time?”

your heart is not mine
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

“You swore to me that your heart was not mine.
So why cry, babe, when I leave every time?”

From the moment he spied her, he had them:
Feelings he thought were dead in adolescence.
Or, like when Eve was first spied by Adam;
Feelings that leave you dead to all sense.

She was bored that day. . .or. . .is every day.
Particularly not amused by him.
Fine enough to catch what he had to say.
But, as routine, her attention was thin.

“Blah blah. . blah blah . . .” was all that she had heard.
At least, that’s how she fancies it to seem.
Her presumed indifference dissolved his nerve
because she veils her glances in between.

“You swore to me that your heart was not mine.
So why cry, babe, when I leave every time?”

I’m Letting It Go [Again]

© Joey Who? and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.