The Eve of Christine

I never was one
for the cliche meetings,
the innuendo laced dinners,
the sappy love songs.

I'm still not of that
mind
   set,
but she grabbed my hand
wouldn't let go.

Kisses with the passion
that could rent oceans,
a stare of lustful bliss
that made my knees buckle,
she spoke to me...

Not in the language of everyday,
but in the soft hush of her breath,
in the subtle flicker
of her eyelashes,
in the glimmer of her
soft brown eyes...

Time stopped for moments in between,
I don't know how long actually passed,
but it seemed ages
since I took my last breath.

The soft supple curve of her hips,
the beating of her heart under perfect breasts,
the saunter in her step
as she walks away knowing
that the way she shakes
drives me to insanity...

She strikes the picture in my mind,
perfection is a perception
not a standard,

and as she pulls
her lips away
from mine,

the moment between kiss and goodbye,
I've seen our relationship grow,
I've watched perfection,
I've sampled the ambrosia,

I kissed my love
into the wind,
and I fell leagues
with her in my arms.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

lost in a moment

She came into my life on
a whirlwind of doubt,
something I never looked for,
something I never asked for.

Her words were melodic,
her eyes mirrors to myself,
her kiss electric,

She enfolded me into her dream,
with feathered gazes
and raindrop softness,
my mind a blur of emotions.

Everyday since has been
unlike the first,
but as comfortable
and encompassing
as the last,

She kissed me,
she killed me
in a sense,
a good way of course,
but the old ways
have given way
to new.

I see her smile
in the bright sunshine,
I see her tears
in the dreary rain,
I see her kisses
in my day dreams,
and I let go of
all the pain.

My life has been
somewhat of a turmoil,
filled with gaps
of happiness,
she fills the
emptiness with
more than I ever asked.

And for that I'm glad.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Althea Mae

So full of life,
how you came into the world,
a bustling little ball of joy.
Parents that adore you,
family that loves you,
and a sun that shines
on your every smile.
You make the world
go around my dear.

You won't realize that
until much later in life
little one, you have so much
                    Up
G r o w i n g  ^^ to do.

When I held you as a baby
you smiled at me,
it was as if the clouds
parted and the rain abated
for the moments you were smiling.

Child you hold your arms open
to a world full of malice and deceit,
and yet you still smile and laugh.
Fate has played a hand for you,
and it was cruel of them
to double down on a losing hand.

Yet somehow you managed to smile
in the face of adversity,
scream into the wind,
and let your heart be heard.

You've touched so many
in the short time being here,
we see your courage,
your fortitude,
and can do nothing but applaud.

Losing a part of yourself
that you never really knew,
only had a short time to use,
and still you smile...

how you smile...

I can only weep,
when the sun shines
through your eyes.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Black Sand, Blood Ocean, Blue Sun

Grains of sand, like tears, so black
that eternal night is held
in each individual piece.
They squish through gaps
between toes tempered by
The scorching Blue flamed sun
that burns only to destroy
those who cannot adapt
to it's awesome fury.
Still I trod on
while the Blood red
sea laps at my feet,
trying to steal the only
bleak color away from me.
Relentlessly pounding
Obsidian cliffs of mourning
and returning each tear
shed to the beach of memories.
Twisted trees perch upon
gnarled knolls of dry packed
dirt the color of death,
for nothing can live here
nature is but a memory.
I sit and whisper to my companion
of the coming night
and perilous doom,
She sheds a black tear,
never saying a word,
and watches the Blue fire
Die in a glorious crimson
pool of sorrow.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Stormy Skies

I fell asleep to the rain
trickling at my windowsill,
another dark and dreary day
in a world full of
sugar plum fairies
and happy people.

I guess it's just my corner of the world
that the malevolent sky's open for.

I had my first dreams in months
while listening to those drops,
they weren't dark like the clouds,
but they weren't as light hearted
and colorful as the world that surrounds me.

I guess my imagination lacks the complexity
of color, but then I'm not like most other people.

Words chiseled me from obsidian,
and it is now words that carve out my heart.
The pen, oh what a love affair we've had,
how many scripted evenings we've shared,
and now that same pen has soiled
my memory and my love.

I guess when I needed to hear the whispers
I was looking for tears,
and I suppose when I should have seen soaked eyes
and tattered feelings, 
I was listening for silence.

But then again, I never was one with open eyes
and the heart of a dreamer.

I found myself sitting in the rain watching
each perfect drop settle in it's place
on the earthen surface,
and I wondered where they went
after hitting the ground...

but I'm not a dreamer, and it's cold outside.
I'm soaked to the bone, and all I can hear
it the chattering of my own teeth.

Introspective...I think that's the word
that might best describe me,
Since apparently all I care about is myself.

I ran down a path thinking that the people following
would keep up with me,
thinking that they were OK
and that they didn't need my help anymore.

The old adage 'If you love something set it free'
comes to mind at the moment and yet it doesn't fit.
You see you can't set something free
that you never had in the first place.

You see you never truly own anything,
you only posses it for a short time
before it morphs or melds into something better,
or worse.

And I'm the catalyst, or so it seems,
for the worst.
this may be one of those half-truths 
that people speak of so often these days.

When does something become a 'half-truth'?
is it when someone doesn't want it to be true?
or is it when the truth just doesn't seem
good enough anymore, not quite solid enough,
or maybe just a glimmering doubt in your mind?

You see questions just spawn more questions...

But then I am deceitful as some might say,
so I could be leading you into my dark grove,
to listen to the whispers
like our friend Denethor.

I don't know how I feel anymore,
I don't feel pain like I used to,
and if joy knocked harder than
what a pin drop sounds like
then I must not have been paying attention.

Some people would ask me what's wrong,
others would guess,
most turn the other cheek and ignore the problem,
and that's just the way I like it,
in my dark little corner,
my shohikan grove,
my grave,
my mind.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved