A hopeless romantic still learning the art of simplicity, but continuously indulging in life's beautiful complexities.

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  • whentherainfalls 1w

    Swan Song

    When passion dies
    It dies with no grand symphony
    It dies on the very tree it was birthed
    It dies, gets plucked from its mother branch
    By those gales of discontent and self-critique
    That once rolled off its surface
    As does the rain on April maple leaves

    When passion dies, it does not whimper
    It does not say a single word, does not sigh
    No, when passion dies, it simply stares at you
    Its eyes become the blank page haunting
    Every square inch of your creative mind
    It dies, and it will not rest until you do
    Until you and everything you could be is gone

    Passion is vengeful, brooding, patient
    In the ways its plots your sure demise
    When passion dies, it bites the mind
    That once fed it meaning, and gave it life
    Passion needs an outlet, it needs direction
    Lest it consume you, as do the wildfires
    running rampant abroad summer greenwood

    When passion dies, there is no encomium
    For the brilliant wielder of its infinite power
    You become the swan song of an ugly duck
    Destined to perish from malnurishment

    The greatest work of any legend in the arts
    Is the darlings that they killed along the way
    the words they held in their bleeding heart
    too dense for their pen, too dark for the page

    Then their passion died and they came to find
    The beautiful garden that was once their mind
    Became a prison of wasted moments, ideas,
    Ghosts haunting them in the dead of night

    Passion is beautiful, but oh so unforgiving
    Passion is a loving ally, a vengeful oppressor
    The key to your success, the road to your end
    If you have that fiery passion, don't reign it in

    The sun is surrounded by universal darkness
    And it does not conform to that influence
    The sun does not stop radiating its power
    Though it doesn't see the difference it makes

    If the sun is often praised for its grandeur
    It does not hear the resounding affirmations
    It does not know its purpose nor why it shines
    It does not ponder the meaning of its own light

    Our passion is as the sun, we cannot hide it
    It cannot be contained without inflicting harm
    And even as we go on living our day-to-day
    We affect the world in ways we do not know

    When one's passion dies, it's a true tragedy
    The world is engulfed in abject darkness
    As heaven becomes a shade too dim, thus
    Every line and stanza, each word and moment
    Write with unfettered passion, live unboxed
    If time writes narratives, we are the swan song

    ©whentherainfalls | Thursday, 1 April 2021

  • whentherainfalls 2w

    �� Lavender Coffee with Honey ☕

    The dark queen lies prostrate in a corner
    lost in promises of lavender and honey.
    If an icy heart drips with sweet chocolate delight,
    cinnamon eyes will swiftly tame a sea of faces.

    Daintily, fairy lights all dangle a-fray
    singing quaint, with idyllic repose, "I'll look after you".
    Balustrades of teeth peak shyly through rose lips,
    and time dissolves in a maze of absent feeling.

    If Springfield at dusk is a song,
    she's St. Augustine at Night:
    "...but I wouldn't have it any other way,
    this town is the one thing that felt right."

    Her curls bounce, they twist, they swing
    in time to the rhythm of minimum wage.
    Tied up in a pony, tied up in her work,
    the question stands: "who really gets paid the most?"

    No doubt, the pleasantries we exchange
    sometimes sound like sweet nothings.
    And the reason I always stay,
    Is to philosophize about their meaning:

    Whether the fairy lights singing "be my baby"
    as she crafts my Lavender Cafe Con Miel,
    indicates somehow a mutual attraction,
    or that I'm simply caught in a dream I think is real.

    Caleb G. | Tuesday, 30 March 2021

    [Picture retrieved from Pinterest]

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  • whentherainfalls 2w

    I don't have a lot of time,
    but I have all the time in the world.

    ©whentherainfalls | Monday, 29 March 2021

  • whentherainfalls 3w

    She closed her eyes after fastening the safety belt, and rested back into the seat.
    Gripping his hand tightly, in anticipation of the excitement that awaited them, she asked,

    "How will I know when it's started, and we're moving forward?"

    He thought for a moment,
    and soon began flashing a grin
    she would never have a chance to see:

    "You will know we're moving forward, when it feels as though you're falling backwards."

    ©whentherainfalls | Wednesday, March 23

  • whentherainfalls 11w

    i can't be taught that which i know already

    Your actions tell me you're trying to teach a lesson, hoping I'll learn and not make the same mistake twice.

    However, I do not learn, for all these things I already know: I know I am crazy, insane even, for continuing to try, just know that your games do not deter me; I know am a fool and anyone who was in their right mind would've given up a long time ago, yet here I am waiting for you still.

    See, I know what you're doing. And all the while, you have made yourself believe you're getting the better of me; that I will walk out the door like the rest. Instead, I am going to take this opportunity to teach you that my patience is far stronger than your self-doubt and insecurity.

    You can push me away, but I have already accounted for that in my mental scheme of the events as they unfold in time. You will realize sooner or later that I'm not going anywhere, and you cannot teach me any "lessons" I do not already know.

    Willing, I walk through the brambles and the briars, the darkness and the fires; knowing with confidence that one day, you will finally realize how you are so loved and how you are desperately wanted by someone.

    ~ Caleb G. | Friday, 22 January 2021 ~

  • whentherainfalls 13w

    Coming Sun

    I plant my lips upon the stars as they pass;
    Ask them to give my love to you in the night,
    As they stretch from my end of the world
    Over to yours across Earth's shining seas.

    Amaranthine affections, an undying rose,
    I wish to meet you in the land of dreams.
    Until one fateful day our paths intertwine,
    And I get to hold your body tight against mine.

    I believe in my heart this was meant to be
    And I fear not of the days to come:
    Patiently, I sit out upon my porch,
    Awaiting your arrival with the next coming sun.

    ×× Caleb G. | Friday, 8 January 2021 ××

  • whentherainfalls 13w

    ×× From the Fountains ××
    | In the style of Pablo Neruda |

    From the fountains of your love, I drink,
    Plunging my face into its depths.
    Once parched, wandering the nights,
    I feel quenched now as I taste your lips.

    Your eyes are rivers of serenity,
    I get caught in their ebbs and flows;
    Grander than moonlight on a winter's eve,
    Grander than oceans of taciturn waves.
    The pink tones that decorate your cheeks
    Lure foreign sailors safely to your shores.

    The heavens are woven with your ebony hair,
    I map the constellations between each star.
    Angels dance there where the aroma is sweet;
    Lilac, honey, and lavender--a concinnity.

    With my fingers, I trace each curve and edge,
    Every blue vein, every hill, and every valley.
    Lands once unclaimed, I make them my own,
    There between your breasts,
    your heart calls me home.

    ~ Caleb G. | Tuesday, 5 January 2021 ~

    [Photo retrieved from Pinterest]

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  • whentherainfalls 15w

    A moment.
    A person.
    A moment with this person.

    Life has allowed us the privilege of experiencing something so ethereal as a freeze frame in the vast oceans of our day to day existence.

    We stretch out our hands to grab it, but it eludes us.
    We try with all our might to hold on, to make it last.
    Our efforts, however, are vain at their best,
    and futile at their worst.

    For with each passing moment we try to seize by clenching it in our fists, myriads more slip through the cracks of our fingers: where they become wasted, drifting quickly into the void of eternities past.

    They find themselves filed away into the furthest recesses of our minds; there where obsolescent memories have not seen the light of consciousness since the moment of their conception. All of their innate potential has now become lost irremediably.

    Moments have wings, you see.
    Beautiful wings,
    which allow them to flutter gracefully
    any way the everchanging winds
    of fate and of circumstance may blow.

    They travel as an armada of ships sailing the seas;
    As a vortex of clouds enveloping the troposphere;
    as kaleidoscopes of monarch butterflies voyaging to New Mexico every year.

    If only we could allow ourselves to rest right here, right now...

    In this moment, where there are butterflies swirling on ahead in our own journey--opportunities for a meaningful life.

    In this moment, where there are grand displays of clouds changing shape and form above--the evolution of the heart as it's tempered by the atmospheric pressure and elements.

    In this moment, where we see the great ships sailing onward--the promise of exciting adventures to be had and battles to face as we press forward to our destination.

    We cannot capture a moment,
    it must come to us:
    It comes to us when we are still,
    just as butterflies when they land
    in the palms of your hands
    for a rest before fluttering off again.

    When you learn the art of stillness and serenity
    You will find that kaleidoscopes
    of beautiful moments flock themselves around you.
    They fill you with hope, joy, peace, and love.

    When this happens, you are allowed the privilege to see it in action and up close.
    To feel its fragile legs upon your skin,
    To admire the intricate details on its wings.
    Each moment is unique on closer inspection--
    Beautiful in it's own way.

    Maybe if we took a second
    --as days seem to threaten
    leaving us behind in their wake--
    to be still and calm our souls,
    To stop rushing around maniacally
    in pursuit of the perfect moment,
    To open our eyes for once in our lives,
    We may find that the perfect moment
    Is the one in which we're living now.

    \\it takes a gentle soul, a patient heart,
    A delicate touch, and the eyes of a poet,
    To truly see the beauty hidden in every moment\\

    ×× Caleb G. | Tuesday, 29 December 2020 ××



    The picture was taken by a friend of mine.
    He challenged me to make a piece of writing based off this photo he took of him holding a butterfly.

    >> Fun Fact: according to several online sources, a group of butterflies is officially termed as "a kaleidoscope"

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  • whentherainfalls 15w

    The frame on the wall speaks to me,
    In a language lost in memories.
    With words trailing off as solemnly it reflects,
    Silence ascends the stairwell to haunt the annex.

    And annexed it is to poetries never inked:
    The lines are boundless, yet no less succinct
    Than is the illusion of understanding time erects
    When it gives us a pattern we think connects.

    The frame on the wall speaks to me
    Now in a language riddled with auguries.
    Echos and whispers to clamor giving rise,
    Silence descends the stairwell meeting her demise.

    Memories frozen, bleeding, they're linked,
    frame-by-frame cycling chaotic and unsynced.
    These plaster walls; Lo! Their clever guise,
    I'm lost and wandering the depths of my mind.

    ×× Caleb G. | Sunday, 27 December 2020 ××

  • whentherainfalls 17w


    Love a razor--

    You carve my skin with it.

    Leave me drowning in blood, sorrow.


    •• Caleb G. | Thursday, 10 December 2020 ••
    Here's my attempt at a Cinquain Poem (:

    Both the photos in the picture are from pinterest

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