Hope was the first One
Who danced within my thoughts and
Kissed my lips this morn'
His fire warmed my bones
He gifted to me a cup
Half full and intact
Giving Flowers
Just past the window pane
In the peripheral there
Was
The delivery man with the great gift
Was she giving, getting flowers again?
I wholly hoped the proud bouquet
Would head my way
But I knew
They were destined for elsewhere
Disheartened
The good news-bearer learned
What I've known
The girl next door's almost never home
Then Came
Would that you'd feel the flood of thoughts I felt as I kicked the ball of life down the graveled way.
The deer who saw me first, then bounded 'cross my path so I'd look up.
Look up!
How long she studied me!
I told her it's okay (we both knew it was not) to trust my kind.
The damp stick I carried.
For comfort?
To ground me?
The why, near the end, with nirvana in sight, I turned back on purpose to do it all again.
Leaving the wishes, the worries…the noise.
From whence I came. 
Credits
On the way to midnight
Honestly aren't you tired
Rumination
Maturation
Arrested
Comparison
The hair on her
The mess on him
The should have knowns and unknowns
The old film reels replay
All the while they don't care
They smile
One dimensional grins
As your epic fizzles
And fades to black
Fire
A circuit broken
It must be
For I am funny
Please hear me
A heartstring missing
Within you
Why does my beauty
Fault your view
A shallow moment
You indulged
Became a chasm
That engulfed
A too-late goodbye
As you wish
But in my memory
Our first kiss
Stretch: A Haiku
And now with soft touch
And with the most silent voice
Say what you must say
Particulate
So?
So!
So tune them out
Tune me out
Tune us out
As the flame
With spit on your fingertips
You've snuffed out
It should seem
Easy would be the way for you
The path full with light you've captured
(The two-edged grail of a sword, I'd bet)
Look about you
Look at the unanswered dust you love
Tune us out
Except Haiku: A Haiku
Even the insect
Green, excited and nervous
Is most poetic
As he lands firmly
Near to me, one thing he knows
My poetic prose
Such gorgeous ramblings
Have we, he'll spout, grammar-less
Need-less, filter-less
Can’t
I spoke of it gingerly
In the back corner booth
Not of my choosing
Appropriately dark yet public, alike
I wondered
Would they believe or deny their ears
Embrace me or send me packing
Give or take,
It has been eleven hundred fifty five days
I still cannot tell if the words left my lips
Fluent
Piece
After
Piece
I have thrown after hope
That day might be anew
Under the microscope
Through the telescope
Yet not to the naked eye
Indeed it has
It is
Crisp, though unbleached
Comfortable, too
With a new song
In a language
I will struggle to learn, I will
LisaRosier.com 