"Our Opus" / "Not Quite Sure" (Double Poem Post)

-
Before you were Beauty,
you were silence swelling
                     to Symphony;
long, lingering notes floating
in the once still air, slowly filling it
with the effervescence of
                    beauteous harmony.
We calmly recall pleasant memories
as your melodious voice speaks seeming
sweet nothings to maintain meaningful
                    conversation.
But the words are not mere nothings,
neither are they saccharine phrases left
out to captivate and irrigate shallow thoughts.
No, your words are well placed shades
of color to our conversational canvas.
And this arduous oil painting of frequent
correspondence leads us, naturally,
         if not with hesitation,
to the overtones of romance.
In an instance of somber song,
we find the shards of our more-than-
                                  once broken hearts.
We mend, tasting true affection;
simple melodies crescendo to ethereal love.
                              This is our opus.
And it began in your simple, sweet symphony
                                                                            of Beauty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What have I written in stained pages
that I haven't written before?
As though further metaphor
of my mundane circumstances
are an amorous blanket to warm the heart.
It's the same old start:
some lady love, some broken ardor lost
again in romantic pain.
It loses lustre, starts to bore,
if all we write is romance.
Love, love, love...
How are we not sick of
childish, worldly love?
Tainted as it may be,
it's still the only inexhaustible
resource that fuels our every day.
In this way, I guess,
I haven't written enough in pages
what I needed to say
about love.
After all, I'm not quite sure
if I found love at all.
I'm not quite sure at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two poem post today. Hope you enjoy (oh, both have been finished today - it's only the second poem that was written in one go. The other started months earlier)!

Cheers!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sweet Medicine

-
So I've heard that the difference between poison and medicine is in the dose.      I've also heard that food should be our medicine, the front lines against disease.    I've also  heard                          (bear with me) that the quickest way to a man's heart           is through his belly. Let's put aside the obvious      problems glaring at us            with glowing,              unsettling eyes - of the literal relationship of constant ingestion of meaty, fatty proteins and heart disease - and let's just sit back, relax: take this     on a more abstract level. Her words & actions        were saccharine: thick dollops of gelato filling a generously large bowl. It took more than a few years to finish, but I got throu...
Read more

Because...

-
Image
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarecely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. Emily Dickinson "Because I could Not Stop for Death..." I stated in an earlier post that I'd venture into poetry - I never said I'd take another's. But this isn't a poetry post - this is one of those kind-of-essays. I have just recently been given the news of the passing of my grandmother on my mother's side. It's hard enough to deal with a relative's dea...
Read more

But Whatever Do You Mean?

-
Her mind was reeling, in a state of retropulsion, as though stepping - no, leaping  back would save her from dwelling on the implications of what just happened. The enemy - so-called -             called for truce,      even friendship. She has known him these past three years and not once has he made any indication of backing down. His sense of pride, like a wall, didn't allow the very idea to enter through the gates. And yet now, when she chances upon him in the streets, all she sees on his face is bewilderment,              even confusion. When he chances upon her,                        his eyes fill with anger - but does she see a hint of embarrassment, dancing in the corners? Her curiosity is getting the better of her -                     she demands him, upon...
Read more