for you

the day is made of flowers
within these high steel walls,
the city breathes
a busy sort of sigh —

and though i walk for hours,
amid the carts and stalls,
i seem to see you everywhere.
and why?

for you
i sang a different kind of song,
for you
i walked the angry streets
and brought my heart along,
for you
i turned the winter into spring,
for you,
you were my hope,
my everything

there is a kind of mem’ry
that’s realer than real things,
the presence of someone
who isn’t there

it’s absolute, and plen’ry,
and each new day it brings
a realization that is
ev’rywhere

for you
gave me a different kind of song,
for you
i walked the hopeful streets
my soaring heart along,
for you
the lonely winter seemed like spring,
for you,
you were my heart,
my everything

for you,
you’re still my hope
my

everything

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Owen Servant