There’s been a lot of talk recently,
about what it is,
what we have,
how the world seems to function,
though we’re an anomaly to
I came home tonight,
yes, a sort of settling fashion,
so often I’ve felt out of place,
in a wonder,
not knowing really,
where home might ever be.
I knew it once,
when in her arms,
she cradled me,
oh, yes, I am a man,
but there is something rather
when a woman does hold your
soul in everlasting love.
I’m aching a little bit,
there’s a settling sort of peace,
knowing she does love,
is really all that matters
Then comes the wonder,
in the night,
the twilight with the crickets,
singing that familiar song,
we both agreed,
last week, indeed,
we listened to the same
In the quiet of the twilight,
I do love
* photo found on Deviant Art
I’m working on a plan,
with every day, I know my routine,
it is safe,
well tucked away,
to the onlooker, it seems probably typical,
the normalcy of an American society,
yet, step inside my game,
and find a completely different world,
one in constant adjustment,
always needing to figure out a new plan.
See, recently, we
became a different enigma,
in a manner of speaking,
or even just thinking I suppose,
on our own,
not together in the sense of
any longer wanting the same things.
Though we do,
always want what is best for the other,
often sacrificing our own needs for the happiness,
that piece of ourselves
that brought us into each other’s arms
so many years ago today.
So it is a state of mind thing,
this learning how to live,
in a parallel universe,
seems difficult to touch upon
each other’s soul,
when just out of reach,
no longer sharing that desire
Oh to know the difference between a might be and a will,
the solid foundation of love in question,
Oh to realize the fallible nature of society driven by rule,
to know the outcome before we are made the fool.
Oh please believe my heart when an ache is known
for there is nowhere else I wish to be found,
then in her arms, with her sweet taste, her lips that share the night,
that in a moment I might lose myself and find comfort in thee.
Oh to know the beauty of Grace may be round,
in that her elegance of lost hope that now is found.
Look outside the sunlight shadows the morning mood,
there’s a partial overcast sky,
suggests an incomplete meaning,
there would seem to be a distant pain
exists in her heart.
He would try to simply hold on to measure,
the beating pulse of angst she wish
would a challenge meet his own heart,
a desire beyond the normalcy
of knowing love could be trusted
without necessary definition.
We do imagine what our heart believes,
that if in a sudden turn,
her eyes might be in his again,
he would take her tears and meet them with his own,
in this moment the door would be open,
if the sudden luxury of peace,
could then step inside the vacancy
left bruised in
A slow burn,
the gradual release
when the mind,
chooses to listen
rather then react to the news.
I know I love,
hearts strings touch reality
exist in my every breath,
each moment I glance,
the look is for her eyes.
Yes there is a certain peace
when no longer the confusion
implies a fabrication,
or suggests impulsivity.
Today the warmth of truth,
skin against skin,
I do, did, will touch the world
when in my arms
she allows me to carry her heart.
My soul, your mystique,
my life, your love,
the beauty of passing time,
our energy real,
Sweet muse, sweet love,
in my soul I sing aloud,
I breathe freely,
my heart feels whole
I find the strength to move forward,
in the reminder of her beauty,
that which I could only grasp a real,
no longer any sweet fantasy.
I stand along a river edge in memory,
the sunlit banks of summer,
her hands in my hair, mine in her own,
we did know our surroundings.
In the wonder of time, my life an event,
now the curtains close and dust
begins to settle around the swept wood
where our dance would stir the world.
I, in fond retrospect, hold only one regret
when to imagine the elegance of love,
one could only hold on to dreams alone,
just nostalgic recall of her delight.
While every motion, each autumn stood near
we did a spectacular journey appreciate,
the hands of care , the eyes of certain demand.
Those were the minutes of our time.
Would love ever allow our reality to swoon,
in the shadow of a neighbor, a friend, child
we gathered strength to know the cause,
when time did finally spell our lives to part.
Oh to know the essence of what is this value love,
when pain and sickness do in place of real command.
I wonder sometimes when people glance,
if the resonate nature of being human
lasts beyond a moment,
just past the time it takes to see
whatever it is they need in their own lives
to respond accordingly.
I took a walk in early morning chill,
strolled past frosted windows,
ice sculptures lit with calendars,
made from ice cream tubs
consumed and cleaned and saved
for holiday accent the neighbors might see.
I wander through the world with certainty
brings me to my destination,
like a Simon and Garfunkel melody,
I seem to realize the world around me,
except to suggest any confidence
in anyone ever understanding me.
We all have secrets, paths, ambitions,
though seldom are we told,
to share our deepest plans with the person
just nearby without a care,
instead we keep the door open
to a new voice, perhaps the one that matters.
I have to step gingerly through my day
sometimes, in order to avoid the reckoning,
that part of me that defines my love.
Based on the neighborhood and quiet walks,
the eyes suggest so much otherwise,
that when I think of her I cry.
I always do look for those eyes that help guide me,
the ones that hold my soul wherever I may go.