Some poems are wine lyric
Two goblets Clos du Bois
Others are simple syrup
Just so much blah, blah, blah
Now some too-humble wrought lines—
An old wrenched heart softly pines
Heart-tears gathering inside
Aching to let go and fall;
Words mocking a conscience
Of feelings so cold t’would appall
Terpsichore blanches, and then wilts,
Suffers in her marble a new deep fault:
Who can answer for these deaths?
Young stars ripped from the celestial vault
Haruka and Meechaiel pas de deux—
What are we all ever going to do?
The pain lingers…
The words won’t come…
Broken thoughts slip chalky fingers;
The glib finally struck dumb
How to unsee a sunset?
How to unhear the rain?
Where do we put these feelings?
Where do we plant the pain?
A far lightening pirouettes across your glance—
Dance for Haruka, dear friends…just dance
Hopefully at yer next 3am
You might texts oer t’me
Hopefully da nexts day
You might want to see
Dat dawn’s early light
And that I loves you just a mite
Hopefully yer following scheme
You could finds some sharin time
Hopefully you can sees yourself
To agreein to be all mine
Ta has and to hold
Iffin you allows me t’be so bold
Hopefully dese few sad lines
Will makes for you a big smile
Hopefully we kin share a dance or two
Then walks the road the nex’ few mile
Til rises dat dawn’s early light
And see I loves you more’n a mite