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Charles Simpson
More books by Charles Simpson…
“Cold"
Even in the distance, I can feel you pull away
as the warmth is fading from my arms.
And yet I am embraced by the tender despair
that I love you still.
Powerfully. Passionately. Painfully.
The things you say, The things you do. The way you move.
And yet it is only in my heart that time stands still.
Where I ponder how long it will be
Until you miss me.
Outlandos D'Amour (2006)”
―
Even in the distance, I can feel you pull away
as the warmth is fading from my arms.
And yet I am embraced by the tender despair
that I love you still.
Powerfully. Passionately. Painfully.
The things you say, The things you do. The way you move.
And yet it is only in my heart that time stands still.
Where I ponder how long it will be
Until you miss me.
Outlandos D'Amour (2006)”
―
“Intimacy"
Even in the dark I think of you
that these shadows have made me long for your touch.
To wrap myself in the soft, white blanket of your skin,
your words tumbling warmly into my ear.
And yet as I consider the tenderness within your voice,
it is only the sound of my heart.
Trembling to be next to yours.
Outlandos D'Amour(2006)”
―
Even in the dark I think of you
that these shadows have made me long for your touch.
To wrap myself in the soft, white blanket of your skin,
your words tumbling warmly into my ear.
And yet as I consider the tenderness within your voice,
it is only the sound of my heart.
Trembling to be next to yours.
Outlandos D'Amour(2006)”
―
“Rapture"
Does beauty sleep alone—
that all her leaves have fallen in the night?
Her trees shivering quietly within their newfound nakedness,
and yet not so immodest is the wind as it caresses
the starkness of her limbs now bare.
Clouds churn in the half-light.
Rolling barrels of thick, black smoke spinning silently on the horizon.
Like oil upon water; they delicately contort the dawn
with the soft and wistful mutiny of their unspoken revelations.
The sun begrudgingly awakens,
his pride subdued by the currents of reckless circumstance.
Therefore, not but a shadow of its self, he clambers listlessly into the sky
treading the waters of his own light.
And the streets scurry with ocher—
The umberlings of motherless children chased along by the wind.
The air—indifferent, is yet sweet with their laughter,
and I am haunted by the inflection, as her soul gathers in the twilight
of my shadow.
Outlandos D'Amour (2008)”
―
Does beauty sleep alone—
that all her leaves have fallen in the night?
Her trees shivering quietly within their newfound nakedness,
and yet not so immodest is the wind as it caresses
the starkness of her limbs now bare.
Clouds churn in the half-light.
Rolling barrels of thick, black smoke spinning silently on the horizon.
Like oil upon water; they delicately contort the dawn
with the soft and wistful mutiny of their unspoken revelations.
The sun begrudgingly awakens,
his pride subdued by the currents of reckless circumstance.
Therefore, not but a shadow of its self, he clambers listlessly into the sky
treading the waters of his own light.
And the streets scurry with ocher—
The umberlings of motherless children chased along by the wind.
The air—indifferent, is yet sweet with their laughter,
and I am haunted by the inflection, as her soul gathers in the twilight
of my shadow.
Outlandos D'Amour (2008)”
―
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