Tag: Love

a better use of time

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment 
there in the past we were, but here, 
there's sameness, and there's tiredness; 
you watch romantic movies, and 
it isn't all that hard to guess 

that you wish you were somewhere else. 
it's not to wave our life away: 
just to be back inside the new 
when good-surprises led the day,  

and we were young. that thing we lose 
when careless years stack up on years, 
and we have less from which to choose 
in laughs, and far too much in tears. 

i wish that i could give you now 
the things you miss -- i miss them too -- 
but every day is like a gauge 
that falls, until the fuel is through. 

perhaps, a better use of time, 
is then to say what love can say: 
i'm here, i'll sit and watch with you, 
and we, at least, can share each sacred 

day

100 lines

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
first, he wrote 100 lines of his undying, regal love; 
he kept it in a notebook wrapped in shadow -- 
he spoke to her in passing autumn, under dimming skies 
that flickered like his hopes, and her indifference. 

then, he crossed 100 lines, in mud beneath barbed wire; 
the friends he made and tried to save were all -- 
but in that bloody haze, he dreamed of softness, still, and coffee, 
and being purer, better, there with her. 

but she knew nothing of those lines, the written, or the wounded: 
she'd covered up her own scars very well -- 
100 lines of red neglect, a mind turned out of season, 
and never dreaming anyone 

could love her

The Wreck

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
The dreams we treasure deepest 
We do not speak aloud; 
And sometimes, we don't even know 
We have them -- 

Until we see ourselves enact 
Some sort of non-auditioned script, 
And feel some inmost self 
Makes our decisions. 

And older people say, you're young.
You'll understand, when you get old.
But when we're old, we 
Leave it to the silence -- 

For hearts go where they will, and we 
Are dragged along behind them, 
To wake up to the wreck that's 
All around us

I called her on a Friday…

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
I called her on a Friday, 
To see if she was well; 
She told me she'd sold everything 
For two snails and a shell -- 

And so, I took her for a ride 
Out in the autumn air; 
We soaked in all that countryside 
And laid our secrets bare -- 

We climbed into an afterworld, 
Where silence was the rule: 
We broke into the one last vault 
For that remaining jewel -- 

I woke up on a Saturday 
Unable, much, to feel: 
I reached for her, but wasn't sure 
How much of it was real -- 

We heroes and we heroines 
Who grow up queens and kings 
Of snails and shells and countrysides 
And silences 

And things

Back Then

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
There was so much to have, back then: 
It all seemed right, and overdue -- 
But none of that meant anything 
When I met you. 

Perhaps my memory's faulty, but 
You seemed to take up every space 
Within my brain, as all my dreams 
Fell into place. 

But nothing could prepare me for 
What I would feel or hear or see 
As you revealed the gift that is 
Yourself to me -- 

There was so much to have, back then. 
But none of it seemed real, or true, 
Except the single, burning fact 
Of wanting 

You

summer lost

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
in days of summer lost, you sat 
and waited for the tide 
that like an inhalation came 
and filled you up inside 

but every season flows into 
a new realization 
that every reason comes to be 
its own capitulation -- 

in days of summer lost, i loved 
the heart within your aching soul: 
and still, i do, as we keep watch, 
the vigilant, 

the shore patrol

Better

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
If I could sleep, I know I'd say it better. 
In these long days, I'm made of sand and stress: 
Receivership -- a hidden sort of debtor -- 
A wine that leaks out daily in the press -- 

But you and I believe, although we struggle 
Recapturing, rekindling the dream: 
The tariffs being high, we're forced to smuggle 
Our treasures in along a balance beam 

And comb the beach for memories and feelings. 
The distances get lost along the way, 
Among transactions, trade-it-offs, and dealings 
Are all the things that on us, daily, lay -- 

  The brightening fire burns, but it refines us; 
  And what we choose to go without, defines us.