The dance of life brought them to this moment.
As the music fades, they
dance one last time,
knowing love lives on.
Written for the Poetic Bloomings Prompt #48 – In The Shadows
Skin so fair,
milky and unblemished
with the purity of wind blown snow.
Hair so fair,
golden blonde tresses flow
to frame the chiseled features below.
Eyes so fair,
the windows of her soul.
Look to view each season of this man.
Love so fair,
reaching into my heart
to claim the places where it resides.
The heart goes on. Long after
thoughts of her fade. It is said
that ’tis better to have lost at love
than to have never ventured.
The heartache is the same.
I can not blame her
for wanting more, but when one
is unsure, one teeters on the brink.
So, learn to swim or sink,
but in the end the tally is the same.
Life is the no win game. But play
as if your life depended upon it.
Believe in the heart; it goes on.
And you will be fine until you flatline!
Blessed are those who do not see and still believe.
The truth is, eyes can decieve and leave one
with an uneasy feeling that questions their own
verity. Sincerity and logic are the pudding
in which the truth is proved. It abides in each of us.
Have a bit of faith and wait for the signs to point it out,
the annointed ones are no more favored than the least.
Put you finger in His side and His palms for that matter,
you need no stigmata to steer your heart. Have no doubt
or fear. Just believe what is here, and you will see.
You worry about my comings and goings,
as if I am tied to someone else’s life.
But life is rife with opportunities
and the unities we have established
do not serve to anchor a heart when
feet continue to seek new ground.
My acquaintances know my nomadic ways,
and I spend days and weeks at a time
enjoying what’s mine when I find it!
(Mine AND the time!) So let me be,
and I’ll be. Just leave your message
at the beep. I’ll get back when I am!
The chill is gone from my weary bones,
I feel the therapeutic warmth of a summer’s sun
in this diminished preview spring offers.
The mist upon the loch rises ever slightly
as the brightly coloured hues hibernate
awaiting their blooming. Soon, the hills
will be awash with the beauty reborn.
And my worn and tattered heart starts to feel
the reel that the pipes provide and it can not hide
the thrill I find in Heather on the hill!
(And Heather doesn’t mind it either!)
She sits in vapid conversation,
flicking her fingernails in annoyance
trying to avoid his blatant stares.
His coffee cools in deference to
the bright blank walls which
lack warmth and offer no comfort.
And I sit in solitary silence gazing
into the dank despair of my smoky cup.
My soul bears its stain sadly.
Night is a ravenous carnivore;
it preys on our loneliness.
In homage to “Nighthawks” by Edward Hopper