Hot and Cold

 Our love was a poinsettia blooming in

The middle of December – bright and red.

Uncanny time for a love to begin,

all other flowers had long since been dead.

The tender petals looked like fire and

seemed inextinguishable to us.

We neglected roots and petals and planned

to love like this forever, caught in the rush.

But flower and flame must both die away.

The brightest blaze burns out with time

and untended roots will meet with decay.

This love was not meant to be yours and mine.

We parted ways in the hot July sun

much colder than when our love had begun.

Little White Strings

Sometimes I wish that

I could tie little white strings

to all of my words

so as they leave my lips

I can decide to let them go

and fill the open air

like so many helium balloons,

their reds, oranges, yellows, and greens

specking the sky,

bright and free.

Or I could pull them back

just in time, keep them inside

because my words are not always

pretty and bright.

Sometimes thoughtless words slip

through my grasp,

and they are gone

like a balloon evading

the grasp of a helpless child.

But they are not like balloons.

Instead they take on the form

of a terrifying beast.

Once unleashed, with wild eyes

and dripping fangs, it will wreak havoc,

doing more damage than

I could have imagined.

Standing in the wake of disaster

I wish for something that could

change this fate.

No, there is no little white string

to tie to my words.

Once said, these words

are impossible to unsay.

Once released, the beast

will not return to its cage.