Across A Thousand Summers

Across a thousand summers, they
Ran love through all its paces;
Though lacking funds, experience,
And all the social graces,

But she was beautiful and free,
And he was strong, undaunted —
And though employers had them on
The list of their least wanted,

They lived from hand to mouth to hand.
So perfect in its purity,
He missed the shadow in her eyes
Of seeking shelter’s surety.

Across a thousand winters now,
He crepey, old, and languorous,
Remembers what he gave for love,
And how it all was meaningless —

These pictures in his fevered mind,
Unfaded and undusted,
And how he just was not enough
For that one girl

He trusted

if i could bring the moments back

if I could bring the moments back,
the pictures frozen there in time,
we would be laughing in the snow
that now falls only in my mind.

for you were lovelier than all
this cold and wintered heart has known;
and i can see, unfaltering,
the love and grace that lately shone

from out of your once smiling face.
enthusiasm pure and clear
in moments that i treasure now
that you have gone
and i’m still here


This is a prompted post.

The Luckiest of Men

If I could draw the way it was
That long-remembered day;
I’d show the water and the trees
You’d smell the air and feel the breeze,
And watch the old bridge sway –
That long-remembered day

If I could show you how it felt
To have her by my side
Amid the lovely forest green,
Beside the cool and placid stream,
My heart a-burst with pride –
To have her by my side

Then I would bend the path of time
And she’d be here, again:
The hurt, the worry, all a blur,
The days of me right next to her,
The luckiest of men —
For she’d be here
Again

Exaggerated

What is exaggerated to one person, may mean the world to another

She went; the color left his world.
His small-town life of big-time dreams
Was squashed beneath the weight of grief,
How bad a breakup often seems

For there, surrounded by the gray,
He saw no light and heard no call:
Exaggerated though this sounds,
To him, it was not so at all

A trivial domestic mess?
No. Life is naught
When purposeless

A Passing Sorrow

A wind blew through the field today
And touched a passing sorrow;
I couldn’t pause to feel its chill
With time not mine to borrow

I saw her tears as present still,
A shining through the heartbreak —
But passing sorrow’s all we are:
A wisp of love

And heartache