I’d see them chatting after lunch; They’d pass each other in the hall - He was a handsome sort of guy, And she was very shy - Sometimes I’d catch her watching as He and some other guys played ball; He was a local sort of star That she watched from afar. One summer day, … Continue reading "The New Girl"
A quibble with a common metaphor...
She stood where love was meant to be And watched its slow demise; Though posed as the embodiment Of fantasies of guys But love is not an image, nor A way we simply feel — It’s only action that can prove If love is really Real
So I don't want to think it anymore...
... it's a sad day, indeed
[I had completely forgotten this poem and the event it refers to. At the time, I would not have thought that possible, so hard did it hit me. – Owen] One night, you gave yourself to me the next night you had gone away I do not understand I do not understand at all … Continue reading "Old Poem, Age 24 (Edited)"
I know you think of someone else, I see it in your eyes; I know you dream of other worlds And living otherwise – I know you look at me and see No future, nada, none — Yes I know how brief love can be When only felt By one
Edited heavily, as per usual
He wishes he could spare her tears today. But there is nothing, nobody who can; For tears will out – they’ll always find a way, To issue when they will, despite of plan That she might have of putting on brave face. He loves her with an old man father’s love, Full wishing he her … Continue reading "Her Tears"