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 Jul 2016 G Dawn Moreland
Stephan
.

Watching her board bathed in fog at the station
Spectacles slide down the bridge of his nose
Usually a blur, not in this situation
Smudges can’t hide every beauty she shows

Lugging a satchel in high heels and cotton
In her left hand rests a statue that grins
Such an odd sight, this her concrete companion
Never you mind as the journey begins

Timidly calling the glass doors to open
Counting his change spread of nickels and dimes
Gasping for breath on a curb painted yellow
Escaping the past, oh those horrible times

Filled every row, ‘cept a seat near the driver
All eyes affixed as the vinyl bench sighs
Kicking her shoes to abbreviate blisters
Freedom is felt in the footwear goodbyes

Nervous he waves from the corner still pacing
Climbing the steps of a Westminster bus
Pulled at his limbs by another intrusion
Faking his mood so she thinks there’s a fuss

Taking a seat between cement and flannel
Rolling his eyes that he don’t mean at all
Watching her lips as she inhales discretely
Feeling his library heart start to fall

She tugs his ear with her thin ringless fingers
Whispers a secret he hopes comes to share
Hides from the window, the vehicle moving
Nary a glance towards the morning sun’s glare

She holds her gnome like her life is depending
When all she needs fills the seat right next door
Porcelain dust on her clothes has her sneezing
Handkerchief offered he nicked at the store

Such is the dream of a bookworm delivered
Finding the chapter he’d thought long ago
Angels and demons and pretzel tan loafers
Potholes and clues juggled way down below

What is this trail winding out to the country
She gives a smile so much more than the fare
Holding on tight to a vested creation
Seeking adventure of those debonair

Here now we find such an unlikely duo
Still in their eyes shines reflections of grace
She has her man and her plan contemplated
He has his heart in the very same place
  
Exhaust fumes emit in a paisley frost pattern
Corduroy sidewalks bid all a farewell
Searching for love is the now destination
What will they find, only time it will tell

And as a western of popcorn persuasion
Into the sunset, they fade in the glow
What once was billed as a short presentation
Nowhere on this page will “The End” now show
I might continue this, not sure.
Here is a link to part two in case you stumble upon this one.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1718580/an-unlikely-duo-2-do-not-disturb/
id been rolling ******
gathering moss
for as long as i remember
until the day i came across you
so i stopped
changed my course on the spot
set myself on a path
that now im on
i cant step off
until i get to where im going
whether i like it or not
ive got to keep on rolling
from the bottom to the top
sisyphus would be proud
if you step in the ****
then you are bound to spread it
doing the ***** work
for the ******* who shed it

who is holding the spoon
here's your chance to stir it
let's forget the truth
spread the **** to blur it

if you play in the ****
then you are bound to regret it
when it covers you
then you'll finally get it
poetry is the reason
Once upon a time,
A flame clear and bright
Fell in love with kindling.

He asked her
To hold him
With her burning arms,
She touched the kindling gently,
And left a black mark
On his chest.

She backed away,
But he grabbed onto her hand,
She watched
In horror
As his fingers went up in smoke.

She didn't want to hurt him,
But he didn't want her to leave.

Now she's watching
The tiny fire
Slowly burning
Up his limbs.
Her own love for him
Orange and dancing in
In the dark
Blackening his
Heart.
There's a place
Growing in the back of
My head.
The bricks are watered
By discomforts and
Depression.
The Windows are
Sprouted
In earth composed of a mixture of
Anxiety and PTSD.

I want a home where
Your shadows
Are as familiar to the walls
As a spouse.
Where you can hide,
But feel like you don't have to.

I want your peels of laughter  
To litter my living room
Floor,
Your smiles to stain
My ceiling fans,
And your tears to fill my kitchen
Sink.

I want a home
Of grace and charity
Where I can protect the broken
And pained.
The image is growing in
The back of my head,
The need is rooted in my skull.
The blasting heat
Of your parent's anger,
Is the sun
For it's photosynthesis.

We can have midnight
Conversations
At the kitchen table,
Where you can
Unscrew the bolts in your
Iron
Armor
And let loose the demons
You've been trapped with,
To burn in our
hot water heater.

There's a place I want for you,
A home cultivated by
Your brother and I,
A loving hideaway
For Grace and Charity.
with no place left to go
i face the cold hard fight
when you live under a rock
darkness is your only sight

with no stone left un-turned
that leaves me nowhere to hide
left out in the sun to burn
i can't turn this stone inside

with no reason left to live
i grow colder by the night
crawling from this stone to give
my life to the dying light
it might make more sense when it's finished
 Jul 2016 G Dawn Moreland
Stephan


The closest thing I know to love
Is something I am thinking of
In every sorted worry that my mind decides to share

While drinking heavy in the past
Inside the shadows I now cast
The bottom of the bottle lets me know I am aware

Collecting on a shouldered score
Finding it is nothing more
Than voiced in my confessions of imaginary scenes

Reaching for a photograph
Searching for its aftermath
Tuning off the station in the middle of my dreams

The fury of this drunken bliss
Reminds me of your tender kiss
And ever since I felt it, it is something that I long

For in the end this fairy tale
Reminds me of my quest to fail
Deep within the lyrics of some broken hearted song
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