I heard the other day that you were there,
somewhere,
somebody remembered what we were.
I must’ve dug in too deep,
dug my nails in until my heart bled
and stained all over your white.
The nights we flew on
I see a little less everyday,
the snowflakes are melting into a new day,
absence missed like frost on a pane.
If you were the one who came so far,
why did I take all the chances?
A New Year came,
rang in on the lips of a rotting stranger,
red wine staining the snow, my lips,
falling into the street, gasping
for the morning.
The truth is,
how hard it is to tell a week’s worth of fiction--
I’ll hang on to those lies
‘til only they keep me company
as the years pass and we are forgotten.
No matter where we should meet again--
heaven or hell,
I will smile
and let fiction bring you to your knees.
Author Bio:
Virgil Saunders is Maryland native with a passion for language and literature. While Virgil has been writing since childhood, it was not until the University of Maryland's Jimenez-Porter Writers’ House came calling that they were exposed to what creation could be. Exposure to various forms of life through the work of journalism has led Virgil to a more realistic sense of storytelling on subjects such as Rwanda and the world of retail. A thirst for learning new languages is only one aspect of Virgil’s appreciation of the art of words through syntax and sound. And indeed it is an interest that has led to many travels. Drawing on life spent in the Washington, D.C. area, Montreal and France, they have crafted poetry published in NEW MAPS and Blackberry: A Magazine, with much more going towards the re-telling of world events.
somewhere,
somebody remembered what we were.
I must’ve dug in too deep,
dug my nails in until my heart bled
and stained all over your white.
The nights we flew on
I see a little less everyday,
the snowflakes are melting into a new day,
absence missed like frost on a pane.
If you were the one who came so far,
why did I take all the chances?
A New Year came,
rang in on the lips of a rotting stranger,
red wine staining the snow, my lips,
falling into the street, gasping
for the morning.
The truth is,
how hard it is to tell a week’s worth of fiction--
I’ll hang on to those lies
‘til only they keep me company
as the years pass and we are forgotten.
No matter where we should meet again--
heaven or hell,
I will smile
and let fiction bring you to your knees.
Author Bio:
Virgil Saunders is Maryland native with a passion for language and literature. While Virgil has been writing since childhood, it was not until the University of Maryland's Jimenez-Porter Writers’ House came calling that they were exposed to what creation could be. Exposure to various forms of life through the work of journalism has led Virgil to a more realistic sense of storytelling on subjects such as Rwanda and the world of retail. A thirst for learning new languages is only one aspect of Virgil’s appreciation of the art of words through syntax and sound. And indeed it is an interest that has led to many travels. Drawing on life spent in the Washington, D.C. area, Montreal and France, they have crafted poetry published in NEW MAPS and Blackberry: A Magazine, with much more going towards the re-telling of world events.
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