Tag: Love Songs

A Perfect Night

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

[A song, written for my wife before our wedding, circa 1999. – Owen]

Stars up in the heavens
Shining clear and bright
Lights across the water
No one else in sight

Just to say, “I love you,”
And to hold you tight —
It’s loving you that makes
A perfect night

It might be in Paris,
In Boston, or in Rome,
In a fancy restaurant,
Or staying here at home

Just to have you near me,
And to hold you tight —
It’s holding you that makes
A perfect night

I never thought
That I would find someone
Who fills my nights
The way you do

And if I’m blessed
With twenty-thousand more
I’ll spend each night
Loving you —

If tonight the crowds were cheering,
All chanting my name,
And I beheld the glories
Of power, wealth, and fame,

I wouldn’t want to have them
Without you by my side,
For it without you
There is no perfect night

It’s holding you that makes
A perfect night

It’s loving you that makes

A perfect

Night

for you

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

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

Cinnamon and Gold

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

Cinnamon and Gold

If all the world was mine, to have and hold,
I’d sing you songs of innocent desire;
We’d live a life of cinnamon and gold,
And form a sort of gentle ball of fire

To warm you in the coldest shadowed night,
To soothe you in the weariest of days;
For love’s a long campaign, but not a fight –
A what-can-never-be
That’s been
Always