Posts tagged “Empathy

The Clown

tumblr_mq6sdzBtQW1sy4tc3o1_500The Clown

And so they laughed at your expense—
Giggled when you tripped,
chuckled as you fell,
and applauded while you wept.

Still—there is nothing softer than your heart
except for your soul sad with tears.

And I shall find you when you are lost,
love you when you are lonely,
and lift your heart up in spirit so you know—

You will always have the key—

To mine.

Charles Coakley Simpson


Comprehensive

tumblr_m2r7a82tDs1ql8jqqo1_500

 

 

Comprehensive

It has been long–I think, since I held you.
And wrapped myself warmly
Within the soft, white blanket of your skin.

Charles Coakley Simpson


Cottonwood

tumblr_ljp6qiiEgz1qdyi8fo1_500 Cottonwood

Where are my words–are they lost on the wind,
that ours have suddenly gone still?
For I have found myself beneath your dreaming
and your hold on my heart is my will.
Your sway is soothing, your whispers are warm,
and there is no place rather I’d be.
Than caught beneath the comfort of your dreaming
contemplating—if you dream about me.
If your dream is a wish of a kiss that you missed
then certainly your dreaming is true.
For of all of the wished of the kisses I’ve missed
know they have all been dreamt
Of you

Charles Coakley Simpson


Rapture

tumblr_lm0kj4FeN71qa17wzo1_500

Does beauty sleep alone—
that all her leaves have fallen in the night?
Her trees shivering quietly within their newfound nakedness,
and yet not so immodest is the wind as it caresses
the starkness of her limbs now bare.

Clouds churn in the half-light.
Rolling barrels of thick, black smoke spinning silently on the horizon.
Like oil upon water; they delicately contort the dawn
with the soft and wistful mutiny of their unspoken revelations.

The sun begrudgingly awakens,
his pride subdued by the currents of reckless circumstance.
Therefore,  not but a shadow of its self, he clambers listlessly into the sky
treading the waters of his own light.

And the streets scurry with ocher—
The umberlings of motherless children chased along by the wind.
The air—indifferent, is yet sweet with their laughter,
and I am haunted by the inflection, as her soul gathers in the twilight
of my shadow.

Charles Coakley Simpson