Cliffhangers
He sleeps, desiring to chase frail dreams.
Frail, for he dreams lofty, romantic scenes
of him and her.
He is uncertain of the future
as he pursues her in earnest.
Interest burns as languid embers
seated in his stone heart.
He dares to yearn to be a part of her life.
Strives and strives, does he,
as days, weeks, and months crawl by.
Sighs greet the morning as he wakes.
She writes out dormant thoughts,
prodded by sharp flaming touches of love.
Love is an uncertain term that squirms
and squeals in strange array from ink
barely etched on paper.
She has never truly loved.
What she knows passes for shadows
of true affection found on holy ground,
of God's great passion for all of man.
She sees mere specters of the care
that kisses the lives of loving, aging couples.
Her brow furrows in concern:
has she yet found such a love?
Is what she has now, however
imperceptible it is, enough?
She shakes her head to throw
the burdensome thoughts aside as
she rests the pen and stops for a tide
of tea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A fairly old piece written within this year, around May 4th of 2015. Hope you've enjoyed this little tidbit as I try to finish up a more recent poem - still chewing on the word-play I'm using for it!
Cheers!
Frail, for he dreams lofty, romantic scenes
of him and her.
He is uncertain of the future
as he pursues her in earnest.
Interest burns as languid embers
seated in his stone heart.
He dares to yearn to be a part of her life.
Strives and strives, does he,
as days, weeks, and months crawl by.
Sighs greet the morning as he wakes.
She writes out dormant thoughts,
prodded by sharp flaming touches of love.
Love is an uncertain term that squirms
and squeals in strange array from ink
barely etched on paper.
She has never truly loved.
What she knows passes for shadows
of true affection found on holy ground,
of God's great passion for all of man.
She sees mere specters of the care
that kisses the lives of loving, aging couples.
Her brow furrows in concern:
has she yet found such a love?
Is what she has now, however
imperceptible it is, enough?
She shakes her head to throw
the burdensome thoughts aside as
she rests the pen and stops for a tide
of tea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A fairly old piece written within this year, around May 4th of 2015. Hope you've enjoyed this little tidbit as I try to finish up a more recent poem - still chewing on the word-play I'm using for it!
Cheers!
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