I am waiting to see the sunlight.

Photo by Luca Baggio on Unsplash

Touch and it will disappear, there’s no sense
against my skin but a feeling underneath—shivers
from the cold that leaves me in vain. Drifting away
at its own pace—taking its time because there’s no rush
in life, only those made up by the overthinkers:
transform and morph, the new contours
of shapes left up to…

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The daydreamer who seeks a little too much of that sugar rush.

Photo by Quincy Alivio on Unsplash

ring around and sing aloud
the songs of sweet harmony—melodies
live like stars,
always burning—bright and blistering.

the angels come along and bring
me to safety—soft
and sweet pillows of cotton bliss
soak up my spirit, until I begin to fall
with the cooling rains.

love never tasted sweet, like…

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I saw him from my window, listening to the music from my piano.

Photo by Lenstravelier on Unsplash

My music caught the pigeon’s eye.
From one note—a strike—
the birds appear along the bend,
and only one has stayed for me.

I saw him gently rest upon
the ledge outside my window.
I turned away, from the piano,
to look for company.

He felt my gaze—a pause—
and fluttered…

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When my calculations do not yield fruition.

Photo by Chromatograph on Unsplash

These vials run for miles
down the lane of memories.
With each, an experimentation:
accidental collisions
of molecular stories—against all wonders
and the walls.

Energy never dissipates—
it only passes on.
The heat is in the air:
who knew how much we’d care
for this random meeting—spontaneous, at best.
The irreversible mistakes
now clamoring at the…

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Only drift into a dream once the sun begins to rise.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

There’s no room for sleep —
the silence of the night
is not so still to swallow my sight. The eyes
only bear the strength to quiver—
in the dark,
with all that is now left — ajar.

Don’t look too far:
only catch a glimpse of light
before it cushions…

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I made the choice to pick it up and watch it melt away.

Photo by Agnieszka Bednarz on Unsplash

Melt away
in my bare hands. The heat
is too much for your plea.

And in one second—for once—
I’m cool—not too cold for the untold
warmth that nourishes my body.

Ache succeeds relief—
shivers through my skin, until the grief
stabs me from within.

Drips turn to a puddle,
and…

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A.X. Bates

A.X. Bates

375 Followers

Words can make a difference. Theatre student writing poems about life, society, and coffee. @axybates on Instagram and Twitter.