Part VIII: Echoes

Part I: Voice of an Angel
Part II: Dreamers Vice
Part III: Return to the Dream
Part IV: Illusions of the Moon
Part V: Beneath the Cherry Tree
Part VI: Face of an Angel
Part VII: The End of a Dream
Part VIII: Echoes

I wrote these two poems a while ago, and I completely forgot to post them. They’re a continuation of the series of poems I was writing at the beginning of this year.
 

 
I realize now the hidden truth
The facts about my life
Life
Life
 
The closing doors the final scores
That cut me like a knife
Knife
Knife
 
The dreams I had where she would speak
The ones where I would cry, so weak
Weak
Weak
 
And the times she lightly touched my face
Then disappeared without a trace
Trace
Trace
 
I decided to leave the real world behind
Not because of the people but because that I find
Find
Find
 
It is the only place that we can be one
To prevent my life from coming undone.
Undone
Undone
 
My dreams is the only place for this love of mine
That the only place that she exists and now
 
So do I.
I
I
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

Part VII: The End of a Dream

Part I: Voice of an Angel
Part II: Dreamers Vice
Part III: Return to the Dream
Part IV: Illusions of the Moon
Part V: Beneath the Cherry Tree
Part VI: Face of an Angel
Part VII: The End of a Dream
Part VIII: Echoes

I wrote these two poems a while ago, and I completely forgot to post them. They’re a continuation of the series of poems I was writing at the beginning of this year.
 

 
I haven’t had the dream again
Since the time I saw her face
I with things hadn’t ended then
Hadn’t ended in that place.
 
I doubt I will have them once more
For when I dream I see
A blackened room and single locked door
But her voice is there with me.
 
It gives off a radiant glow
That I’m sure rivals the sun
And I’m comfortable in my little box
Even with no place to run.
 
But even still when I awake
I wish I had seen her face
But once again as I walk the day
She is gone without a trace.
 
And all I hear are
Echoes
Echoes
Echoes
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

United as One

I wrote this one with A Shade of Pen. She’s good friend and amazing poet so be sure to check out and follow her blog.
 

 
A little smile on her face
And I was knocked by the power of it
Could she be the girl of my dreams
Or was destiny playing with me?

A smile graced the corners of her mouth
And it shook me to the core
Could this be a passing fad
Or is it something more?

A million questions invaded my mind
Yet, all I felt was the throbbing heart
No star could match the brilliant shine
That I saw in the twinkling of her eyes

Her eyes, I couldn’t look away
The most vibrant of blues
I couldn’t help but stare
Pulling me into their hypnotic gaze

I fall deep in them shamelessly
I have nothing to hold on to
As I feel like I’m in a trance
That makes every part of me come alive

I never wanted to stay away
I want to get lost in the beauty of her hair
The softness of her skin
The comfort of her touch

I explore the curves of her face
Every inch a perfection in itself
If ever an angel walked on Earth
I was sure, She was the one.

Her words would chill me to the bone
Pull the ground out from under me
And when I fell
She would catch me in her loving embrace

I can fall on her to hold me
Even when I am going through stormy times
There is nothing that shall hold my heart
Like the eyes that currently drown me

The world will fall away
As the scent of carnations surrounds me
And I would float there
Lost in her gentle embrace

Together we will ride the waves
That love will conjure
The moment freezes forever
As two souls finally unite to one

©2013 Alex Hicks and A Shade of Pen

Aroma Of Being Home

Aroma Of Being Home.

It’s been a long time since I reblogged anything on here. I don’t think there’s a better poem for me to start reblogging with again 🙂

Be sure to check out A Shade of Pen and follow her blog. She’s a good friend of mine and an amazing poet 🙂

What Makes a Poet

Writing a few lines of verse
Doesn’t make you a songwriter
Just as a few letters on a page
Doesn’t make you a book writer

Rhyming words strung together
Does not a poet make
Nor are you a singer
With a few notes on the page.

But every poem must start
By a single written line
And expanded with experience
And tempered over time

The ability to write
does not make a poet
You can know what a pen is
But not know how to use it

See, what makes a poet
Is not the ability to write
It’s the emotions of the artist
It’s the driving will to fight

It’s the experiences had
That really make them think
Emotions boiled over
In some simple drops of ink

©2013 Alex Hicks

Why I Write

So I’ve been playing with homophones for the past couple days and this is the poem I came up with.
 

 
You’ll see it when I walk the aisle
Pens will blaze and you know I’ll
Shed my poetry like fur
While keeping fresh like winter fir
 
And with the sunrise in the morning
We will all be busy mourning
For all of those who will be missed
As our tears fade to morning mist
 
Her tears will fall as she raise her veil
As the morning sun greets the vale
And clouds roll in bringing rain
The end of me and of my reign
 
This is the story that I sell
My mind is like my prison cell
The bars in here aren’t made of metal
But broken in by my own mettle
 
I’m not famous, not an heir
But writing comes to me like air
A perfect pillow without a seam
My writing is more than it may seem
 
I tell you all what I have seen
Just like a play at end of scene
I’ve seen so many exit stage right
And that is why I choose to write.
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

Promise

 
I’m the kind of person who is happiest
When making other people happy.
 
If I make one person laugh every day
Then it will have been a good day for me.
 
This poses a small problem for me
 
When someone tells me
That they’ve had a hard life
I don’t know what to say because
Nothing I could say would make their situation
Any better.
 
So I just sit there in silence
Watching
Waiting
 
I don’t know what I’m waiting for.
Maybe I’m waiting for them to get mad at me
for not saying anything
Maybe I’m waiting for the tears they’ll inevitably cry
Or maybe I’m waiting for the moment to insert a joke
Or anything that I think will make them smile
 
But that moment rarely comes
 
There’s a time and place for everything
But there rarely seems to be a time and place for me
 
In the moment,
I’ll sit in silence watching your face
For signs of what you’ll do next.
 
Whether it be tears of sadness or rage
Or a scream
 
But I don’t speak
Because you’ve heard the lies before
“Everything will be fine”
“It will all work out in the end”
“I’ll always be here for you”
 
I won’t speak those lies
Because everything won’t be fine
It may not work out in the end
I may not always be here for you
 
But I’m here now.
That’s a promise I can keep.
 
I’ll be the ears to hear that scream
The shoulder to cry on
The foundation to hold you up
 
But I can’t promise to always be there for you
Because I don’t know if I can keep that promise.
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

Superhero

Last year I read a poem that ended with something along the lines of:
“But no one seems to notice
When a superhero sheds a tear.”
I can’t find that poem for the life of me now so if you have it I desperately want it for my collection.

This poem is inspired by that one.

Enjoy!

---

 
She walks the streets in sunlight
And no one really knows
The side of her that’s secret
The one she never shows.
 
She’s the invisible girl
And she’s always there to help
Purse snatcher, bank robbers
She’s not good for their health
 
She’ll save your falling child
Or thwart a robbers plan
She’ll save the day and vanish
As fast as she possibly can
 
But when it’s time for sunrise
She’ll be normal once again
A normal lonely girl
Waiting for the day to end
 
She lives in her apartment
Run down and full of mice
Living off of nothing
But water and some rice
 
She’s the invisible girl
Living in pain and fear
Because nobody will notice
When a superhero sheds a tear.
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

The Broken

 
Like looking into a broken mirror
The reflection is still there
But it’s all in pieces
Fragmented
Broken
I’m broken
 
Like a shattered picure frame
The memories are there
But it looks strange
Tortured
Distorted
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

Dark Sleep (Part 2)

Part 2 guys and gals, this contains blood and death. You’ve been warned.
 

 
So last night you made a plan
That if you cannot have her hand
None will have her in their bed
None can have that which is dead
 
So you drive to her nightly corner
Wondering if anyone will mourn her
She gets in with a polite smile
Looks at you “it’s been a while”
 
You nod at her and smile back
eleven pm, right on track
Back to your place and through the door
Soon enough you’ll love her no more
 
She strips her clothes and on the bed
On your pillow she rests her head
You get in and lie with her
You know now this is for sure
 
You pretend to sleep and she gets up
In the bathroom grabs a cup
In the mirror there you stand
Right behind her, knife in hand
 
She tries to scream but you’re too fast
and her next breath will be her last
The knife sinks in and tears are shed
She doesn’t know why you want her dead
 
You lean in and whisper clear
I just wanted you my dear
You told me there was never a chance
You made up your mind without a glance
 
Her body drops and in something drops
A small and square red velvet box
You pick it up and look inside
And suddenly it’s you who’se died
 
Inside the box there sat a ring
A simple small engagement ring
And folded small a little note
And within it she had wrote:
 
“I’m giving this small ring to you
and here’s what I want you to do:
take me to dinner, someplace fine
And order us a bottle of wine;
 
Put the ring there in my glass
and when I drink, on one knee ask
If I will be thy wedded wife
From now until the end of life.
 
I’ll say yes, and then for sure
I will be a whore no more
I will be your beautiful bride
And forever we’ll be filled with pride.”
 
You take the knife, eyes filled with tears
You’ve realized your biggest fear
It’s not being alone as it were
It’s living your life without her
 
Your steady the knife at your own heart
And look at her as all goes dark
And plunge the knife into your chest
And finally you both may rest
 
A story told through simple rhyme
Cannot condone a passion crime
So the old phrase remains strong and tall
Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
 
©2013 Alex Hicks