Sent Me Flying
You sent me flying. With a single glance, You sent me soaring. Your smile was the wind beneath my wings. Your laugh was the wind rushing past my ears. Your eyes were the very stars above me. Your hair was the radiant sunshine that warmed my very soul. Your manner was of the clouds, Pure and gentle. Your look, lifts me above lifes trials, Your eyes sooth my pain, Your hands bring me in as a lost sparrow, But when released with your look, I fly high in the heavens as an eagle. But my sweet dove is content, When to her side I return. Gently cooing her love, To which I heartily reply, With great cries of devotion and allegiance, But you wait, I scream a thousand love songs, Each written only for you, But still you wait. Then finally I return to your side, And simply confide my love to you, In nothing above a whisper, Yet with all the sincereity, My heart can give, And then, You smile.
A girl thinks about her boyfriend, although he is thinking more about what size fries this lady will order. He will think of her later. Much later, he thinks of her as he wearily crawls toward his bed as he pulls off his grease-saturated clothes. He is tired, and weary after 50 hrs of work this week. He is pretty sure after next week of the same drudgery, he will be finally able to buy the ring. The ring, of course, was too simple for her, but then again the Hope Diamond's beauty was paled next to his girl. The ring would have to do namely because he wasn't able to afford any other one. He turned off the light next to his bed, and for the first time that evening noticed the moon. She was also looking at the moon thinking thoughts. Mostly the night they gave each other the moon. It was on a night like this when the night was warm, and the moon full. They had sat in the front seat of his six-year old, beat up Honda, with the radio softly playing "Dreams of Tomorrow". The evening was theirs to sit there and release their emotions to each other, by two hands touching and looking deeply into one another's eyes. That was the night the moon changed owners, given and accepted in love, for it was rightly theirs to give.
Mixed Up Metropolis
The Misadventures of Superman
The Clark Kent to the super man, No one knows the two are one, But in this twisted metropolis, Both are ignored, Doomed to social banishment, Even super man after saving them, Is quickly pushed beyond all thoughts, Few knew even know that man exists. The Lois lane has skipped Clark, Of course for the jerky-jock in sports. Clark has changed, Contacts, no glasses for him, Cut and colored, Dyed and trimmed, His hair is changed, But sadly, They only ignore him the same. Maybe a new leather coat, Or the right shirt, Will bring this social hermit what he wants and direly needs. But that would be to simple, To actually succeed. What is there to want, To have, Acceptance? Possibly. Acknowledgement? Undoubtedly a sense of being wanted? EXACTLY! What is needed is companionship. Any since the alterative is none. Kryptonite is not needed when human emotion and prejudice are over abundantly present.
Alone, alone, alone. We run in circles, Trying to find that other person, But then we realize that that person, Is not even in our small circle. Suddenly were lost, confused, hurt, And overall, alone. We are quite often perfectly fine, But suddenly we realize, We are the only one standing there. We look to the left and to the right, But we are still in our desolate world. We broadcast our wants and needs, But our show is quickly cancelled, Because of lack of response. So we put our needs in the mothballs, And wait for fresh meat, Into which we sink our hooks of injury And want. In reaction to this rapid invasion of personality we stifle them, Shunning them when they don't immediately accept us. But then there are those who survive our slaughter, And the moment we connect, And bare our souls to them, Fate comes from the shadows, And reveals that our souls mate, Is his puppet. Who is now being put back into their box. Now we have bared all for naught! Now we are alone again, Running in our endless circles, Looking, searching, and hoping, For that one, knowing full well, That they might not exist, And if they might, They are quite hidden, Hidden purposely, So we might be tortured, In looking for the very thing we cant have.
I don't Belong
I don't belong, Say I'm wrong, You should of known me better. I don't belong. No offer of love, or of grace, I see right through you, I don't belong.
In life there are meetings and partings, But in this twisted life we live, The partings heavily outweigh the meetings, And soon we are left behind. Loneliness is our constant friend, Fate has tossed us our roses, But our flower is wilted and dead, And all that is left is the stinging barbs of once fond memories. Thus the once sweet wine, Has turned bitter in our mouth, And we spill it on the dry earth, Forgetting it and moving on, In search of new wine. We are now incomplete. We stumble as we raggedly look, For something to fill that void, That total emptiness, That is provided for most often, Not by filling but by deepening. New wine, when and if found, Digs deeper, grinding down, And bringing to mind forgotten thoughts. Thoughts, we have, ourselves, Forbidden to entertain, even briefly, We try to stem the sweeping tide, But only succeed in multiplying the problem. Soon we are caught in the euphoria of memory lane. Then, soon enough, they are gone, And our hole is back and deeper then ever. It's back we think, And resign ourselves to self-pity, But the truth is, The hole never left, But was merely camouflaged, With our frivolity.
She's here, am I? She's beyond all beauty, I am plain and ugly. She has the utmost courtesy, I am rough and uncouth. She is gentle and caring, I am hard and unconcerned. She occupies my every thought, I do not exist to her.
There it is; At last! Something slices through the fog, of our apathetic ignorance, and so grabs our attention, that we dwell on that object, until we can't think of anything else. Until our self-induced madness, Overtakes us and we rush, to the object of our desire. But suddenly we hit an invisible wall. Then he familiar mocking laughter of fate do we hear. Then we know this is all his doing, but he corrects us by saying, "Thy thoughts are yours alone". We scream and shout at fate for blocking our desires with a glass box. Suddenly the laughing stops, Fate stares at us but for a moment, then with a laugh he says, "Why do you think the box is over this meaningless trinket?" Then with a sinking feeling, we realize, that there is no box keeping things out, but this box, is really keeping things in.
Reflection on Love
When one stops, and looks, and reflects on love, one frequently finds him self amidst a swirl of colors, and emotions. It reminds one of forgotten things, of feelings forgotten, of spurned love, of ignored advances, and treasured responses. The "one" is there somewhere, or are they? Maybe our true love is closer than we think.
The house is empty, although a large family lives there. It's not because they are never home, why quite the contrary, they are usually home. But the house is empty. Acquaintances frequent the evening social gatherings, and relatives drop by for Christmas and Thanksgiving to say hello. But the house is empty. Now on either side of this house, similar houses are nearly bursting at the seams with only two occupants each. The one on the left holds two newlyweds, and the one on the right has two elderly retirees as occupants. The new couple is rarely home, struggling to make ends meet. But their house is full. The few friends they do have, helped them move from their small apartment, to their first house. They celebrated with several cans of pork-and-beans. Every odd weekend, time will be cleared for a quick bbq or just watching the game. Moving also meant leaving their relatives behind, but a river of correspondence connected them. The house on the right can hardly stay together it is so full. The two elderlies recline on their porch on easy chairs from some time when walking on the moon was in sci-fi books. Almost all their friends have passed before them. They talk about the hard times and the easy times, but they were good times. The grandchildren are almost grown with great-grandchildren are just around the corner. He still can see her as she walked down that aisle, nervous both about that day an if he would come home in a box sent special postage from "over there". But they are together now, but not for long. Eventually one will be gone before the other, but the house will still be full. Have you figured out why the house in the middle is empty, and the others are full? If you have," go and do likewise"
Remarks Upon Looking Into Your Eyes
If the eyes are the windows to the soul, you must be an angel. For when I look in yours, I see heaven itself. Full of purity but wisdom, Innocence but maturity. What force tipped the balance unfairly in my favor, so that I can even appear in your ocean deep gaze? Piercing yet calming in some eerie way, that wraps you safely in a blanket of warmth. When our eyes meet, my heart nearly bursts from my chest. Suddenly the world stops its downward spiral, and everything is perfect, everything is right. The moment is wanted frozen for all time. After your gone, the dull ache returns. It is heavy in my chest as I anxiously await the next time.
No words can describe the feeling when you are near. Nor can they describe the feeling of heartache when you are not.
Your eyes smile, before you do. The way they sparkle with joy. The light from your smile shames the very sun. It hides like an eternal flame. You smile for no other reason than you are happy. That smile causes birds to sing, and hearts to melt. With that smile you single handedly own my heart.
Nice Guys Finish Last
Finishing last is part of life, unless you're nice, then it is your highest achievement. Better than none, good at everything no one likes, humiliated by all. Much is given for even a small amount of attention. But that is not are marring factor. Our curse strikes when we ask something and the reply is "Your nice, but..." We are nice. We don't ridicule, we help, and we give things back when they are stolen, kind words when others hurl biting comments. We are the counselors, the advice givers, and the encouragers. Ideal people until the jerky jocks surface with their over-inflated egos then suddenly we are invisible annoyances, not wanted by anyone. So we retire back into our dark corner, and wait stupidly for the next hurt to heal. Only ours has grown larger, and we are unable to do anything, because no one helps the 'nice guy'. He is supposed to help others regardless of how he feels. Our hurt grows, but we hide it. For we know nice guys finish last.
I'm floating. No, something or things are holding me up. Yes, things. These things are holding me above that sick, twisting, ugly, blackness. Aloof I stay here, supported and strong. Wait! They're not there now. Not all of them, but that one and that one. DOOMED! I am doomed! They are disappearing before my very eyes! I did nothing; I hurt nothing, I DID NOTHING! But they are gone, and I am falling...
Do It Now
If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing, If you like him or you love him, tell him now; Don't withhold your approbation till the parson makes oration, And he lies with snowy lilies on his brow; No matter how you shout it, he won't really care about it; He won't know how many teardrops you have shed; If you think some praise is due him, now's the time to slip it to him, for he cannot read his tombstone when he's dead.
Clock Bells Chiming
Clock bells chiming, every hour, every hour. Clock bells chiming, every day, every day. Clock bells chiming for the living and the dead, clock bells chiming for the young and the old, clock bells chiming for the poor and the rich. But those who live life for the living, they are the only ones who hear the bells.
Echoes fade, memories dim, names blur, and promises gather dust, but the things we know and hold dear to our hearts, are protected against time.
They stare at me. They don't understand me. They laugh at me, They don't care. They humiliate me from afar, for the cowards do not like watching their work having its tortuous affect, ruining and poisoning the very soul of their hapless victim. Then you came. You vanquished the twisting, broiling, mass of evil hatred with a single question. The question, innocent in nature, pure in thought, was batted back rudely by my battle hardened defenses. I gave no ground, but it was useless, for you took none. You stood and gently called. I crept back into the blackness and watched you leave. Something was wrong, or was it right? Suddenly I began noticing the darkness was not as dark as before. Could it be? "No!" I said. "No!" I cried. "No!" I screamed. "It was I! I did it! I am now strong! No more to fall under the heel of others." Then I stop, ad realize it wasn't me. Daily I await your return. Suddenly, you are here! The black is turning to gray, gray to white. How beautiful! Black has no hold in this domain! All problems gone, hardships forgotten, because you are near. I don't care what people say, for if you are here, it doesn't matter anymore.
Enchantment by emotions, obsessions with flights of fancy, dreaming in day and night, all make up the game of love. We catch the eye of the 'one', and with a single glance, we send the signal of desire. Most often though, our love is not returned, let alone received. So we stand there, alone and heart-broken, as we watch others play their hands and score high when the best we can do is fold. It is emotionally wrenching, when we are disenchanted by reality.
The umbrella sits in the corner, rarely utilized, tall, gangly, bright in color. Everyone is thankful when the umbrella helps them; they always welcome it with open arms, when they need it. But when the day is fine, problems resolved, the umbrella is stuffed in the closet. The umbrella loves helping, but hates the closet. For it never rains in the closet, it only gets lonely.
Up, up, up. 'Up' we cry, "up". Up the hill, up the mountain, up to heaven itself. We yell, we scream, we whisper in our sleep, "Up. Up. Evermore up." We climb until we hurt, we climb until we cry, but we always climb. Up. Up. Up. We pass those who declare death and destruction. Up. Up. Up. We pass those who have come down, with empty looks and stares. Up. Up. Up. There is no top. There is no end. Up. Up. Up. We will live on for as long as we climb. Up. Up. Up.
You walk beside me, not in front to be trampled, or behind to be left in the dust. But beside to hold my hand, to whisper advice in my ear, to console me with your arm around my shoulder. In love and friendship we walk with you at my side. Not in front and not behind.
Stranger In The Window
Smiling one, unknowst to me. You spread your joy to me, even though you know me not. Why can't we all bring joy to those we know, let alone those we know not?