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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Relationship · #2207432
A number of any other length would be as sweet
Eleven

I know you're out there somewhere,
11 digits down
Numbers reaching up so high,
lines buried in the ground

With chains of parlance binding,
so many links to try
A fever, fervent... finding
A need... no nerve to buy

A siren in my silence,
A love behind closed doors
11 knots you're out there,
a secret on strange shores

with futures hard to fathom,
myself, I try to fool
Such yearning thoughts, we have them,
lapped through in waves... washed, cool

11 muted cries for help,
for aid against a tide,
that ripped me down and pulled me out
... towed under for the ride

to dim lit desert island strands,
with bottles thrown to sea,
missed messages like fireflies,
caught up, corked fast by me

11 bottles plus, they float,
so fragile in the surf
Filled with doubt, yet cast with hope,
that oceans see their worth

Kernals planted on a tide,
lost seeds cast out to sea,
with fears, worries, worked inside,
a notion... what might be

Elevated to 11,
Flames in bottles, twist and turn
Crossed seas that number seven,
our brightest hopes still burn

Flames in bottles, burning bright,
the air inside well spent
Gifts purchased, never given right
... with letters never sent

Writing, clumsy... out of reach,
such notions I would test
Discarded on a barren beach
11... and the rest

Thoughts deprived of oxygen,
stalled, stillborn in their youth,
lost in their naivety,
in hopefulness, there's truth

11 digits difference, drawn,
as many leagues away,
with distance hard to fathom when
flares light up strong, one way

Where sunshine streams eternal, bright
on minds strewn, far from neat
A mind that tides, nocturnal plights,
my heart ebbs out of beat

11 digits drawn in line
and still so hard to find
Miles off, before I sleep
... and still you're on my mind
© Copyright 2019 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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