stories told and pictures painted are partial both in shortages and in that they are self-serving. but when we are fully attuned none need know and nobody will: our truth stays right where we put it
As the night wound down, I realized, that she Was enjoying the safeness, But I, I felt my resolve slipping, So it seemed best to say Good night. I know things could have Gone another way; I know, because She told me later. But it seemed right To let go. I've been told what it is That we men are, And I would be lying If I didn't say that I am very much like Other men. For that night, though, I did what seemed best For both her and me, And I'm pretty sure I was right. Still, it is a magical memory: Perhaps, most of all, Because it contains Nothing to regret
The conversation turned to Each, our latest breakup; The guy she thought she loved, And then, the gal I thought loved me -- And how she wanted, now, no more Than good coffee and freedom, While I was seeking inspiration, Music, and some peace. It was important right just then To be the unexpected, For something told me, everything Could fast go off the rails. It's strange how often I have been The guy that women trusted, And how I've tried to view that as A kind of sacred thing, Relationships come in all kinds, Varieties, and flavors; And sometimes being less Is something more.
I wasn't supposed to be there; But then, I never am. We walked along within the lights, The pageantry, the crowd -- And she was warm and beautiful. I didn't understand: But I was just pretending then, Holding my breath -- We talked awhile of music, The instruments we played; She said she had three sisters, All of whom were taller. I could not fathom, though I tried, Just what it was that made her burn -- A winter market, Christmas lights, And every sort of wonder.
For years now, I have loved her Somewhat imperfectly; We live and share a space, but have Our times of sparsity, When there is not that much to give, And even less to make: We do go on together, though, To overtake The problems that attend our lives Are such as all may see: The limitations of our hearts, Our time, our energy -- Yet somehow, we will put aside Accretion, rust, and fake, To undertake, again, the work To overtake
a mother's loss, a praying friend, both love and grief are without end but all you have is what you are; and being near can take you far
a day done, and friends parted with -- a night comes. togetherness brings comfort and the ache of goodbyes
He's supposed to touch and make you feel The love he promised he would give. Between the real and the ideal Is where you've found a place to live So close to the periphery Still waiting on delivery. You both said things you meant to do, At least, that's what you thought it meant: But maybe time's been running through And symbols only represent. But yet, he's there: he breathes and lives, And takes, but rarely ever Gives
made of sparing words
and lost time