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Would that my words would lift you from yourself
and take you far enough away to see
the wonder-fullness of your soul; the wealth
of wisdom, love and generosity
bestowed by you on those who cross your path,
should it be for a moment or a year.
Too close to see yourself, you'd think I'm daft
if I would tell you; you'd choose not to hear
the loving words of praise, be cracking wise
about senility, or loss of mind.
I shake my head. Pray that within my eyes
reflects a tiny glimmer of how kind
and gentle you have been when I've been lost;
how grateful am I that our paths did cross.
If it was me
I wouldn't stand in your way
I wouldn't hinder your happiness
I couldn't disrupt your life just because I love you
If it was me
I would let you be
I would walk away
and hope you reconnect with your family
If it was me
I'd cry myself to sleep
I'd wake to dreams of what could be
I'd stay busy enough to be numb
I'd pray that it would get easier without you
If it was me
I'd cherish every memory
I'd want nothing more than to be with you
And still I would go
If it was me
I would tell you how much I love you
I would make sure you knew you are wanted
I would show you you are loved
I would cherish our bonded friendship
And hold onto it with all I am
If it was me

But it's not me, it's you
And I wish you would love me as I love you
I wish you were less noble
Yet I would never change you
I would want you to tell me you love me anyway
I would want to know the truth
I would want to know everything
For how am I to find happiness, wherever it may be
If I am left to hope and wonder
If I guess on where you stand
If I'm in love, alone
How am I supposed to know what you won't tell me
So, I cry myself to sleep and dream only of you
I fight against reality and pretend I'm not in love with you
In my heart I'd swear you love me
Though I can't possibly let myself believe it
So I wonder why I'm not good enough
I wonder if you still think of me
I wonder why it is so easy for you to walk away from me
I wonder why you don't hold on to what you can with everything you are.
I wonder why it's so easy to push me away

Still, if it was me.......
copyright©PrttyBrd 17/02/2011
What do I say
when a telephone rebuilds a bridge
I burnt some time ago?
What do I say
to introduce me to a stranger;
someone I already know?

It took time
to swallow pride and understand
some feelings had to end.
It took time
to set aside a love gone past
and see you as a friend.

What do I say?
I know a hundred writers
and a thousand of their rhymes.
What do I say
when all of them desert me;
I create these naked lines?

It took time
to tear you from my dreams
and once again to make you real.
It took time
to be assured that I could feel
exactly as you feel.

What do I say
when life breathes in a friendship
that had died some time ago?
What do I say?

Maybe put away my poetry
and simply say Hello.
I'm not much one for second chances, but....
(c)1978 Joel M Frye
your memory haunts me
as the
lingering
fragrance
of a blossom
i can never name.
you forever remain
in that part of me
that only dreams
reveal. there we
meet we gaze
and we are
united
so far  
beyond love
Kind of a vision of what we forget when we come out of dreaming: there is much more beyond what we know of here as love--
Copyright 2011 by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved by the author.
I know what I do not know
when my woman holds me,
tells me she loves me, not
for what I can no longer give,
but for the man I've been and am.
She knows I do not know
how to love the way she can
and does, and still loves me
the only way she knows.
Aware of just how small is
the seed of trust I sow,
she waters, shelters,
coaxes the thin weak sprout
and begs me not to fear her.
She did not take the name
of an aging, broken man,
but holds it as proudly
as she holds my hand
while walking at my side.
I know that I do not know
how she knows what she knows
and still can love as deeply
as only she knows how.
1/10/2011 Joel M Frye
There are places I remember
from the time we spent together there,
filled with memories of our loving,
when our laughter warmed and filled the air.
Now I go there when I'm empty
and the pain is more than I can bear,
and I pretend we're still together
in the memories that we share.

Lonely days, so full of echoes
from the voices of the cherished past---
I call your name, I taste your kisses--
I believed our love would surely last.
Again I hold you, oh so tender
at the dimming of the summer's day--
I feel your arms around me ,
and I still can hear you say:

"You're my angel, you're my spirit:
my sun and moon, my everything!
I've never known such loving,
how you fill my heart and make me sing."
And I believed you, how I loved you,
it's so hard to go and leave you there
when I come back from the feeling
of the memories we share.
Written  1998, with a nod to Lennon/McCartney.
Copyright 2011 by Michael S. Simpson.  All rights reserved.
I hear the words and feel inflection
I reach to you, yet fear rejection
Your eyes can't lie they show what's real
Your words don't say the love you feel

I don't doubt that your heart bleeds true
Though you're lost between what's right for you
Too much distance, too much time
Too scared to wait, we crossed the line

Too eagerly we skipped ahead
Now, on cracked remains we tread
We hit fast-forward with no rewind
We can't break free from our own kind

So we long and yearn and suffer long
In silence we don't feel it's wrong
Hearts have merged despite the rest
Still we pull away on friendships quest

To love without loving,  and live our lives
Separately we feel the knives
The ones that cut our hearts in pieces
For every moment it never ceases

We talk without speaking and look the part
We live, hearts not beating, like living art
We cry in the darkness alone and distraught
In denial we awaken alone with our thoughts

Nights stretch into months of dark gray
Even though we talk every day
It's empty and lacking, yet we hold on
Pretending the love we share is gone
copyright©PrttyBrd 02/01/2011
a matter of missing: the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his skin, warm hugs that seem to make everything okay (even if in reality the world is ******, for that split second, you’re there and nothing else matters), the visits that seem to happen when you’re just about to go to sleep on a bad day, having to watch the sunrise, the sunset, the sky (anything that has to do with the sun makes you smile). you know that the most perfect moment is when he holds your hand and you’re drunk on red wine, and the world slips away because he is, and you swear you could die at that moment, happy.

a matter of not forgetting. everything will remind you of him: street children, smells on your street, coffee and pasta (something you will never do again), mentholated cigarettes, the lines about him you attempt to write, the lines that you don’t write, neruda (the only book that stays untouched on your bookshelf. you try to read it, but all you can really hear is his voice reading you “body of a woman”, from the night you didn’t sleep because the air in your dorm room was thick with something you’ve never really felt in that room, air used to be so stale. but he was there, and you watched him sleep thinking he’s beautiful that way, and you smile.

21.09.09
(something i cannot bring myself to read anymore, random journaled thoughts)
Picture yourself standing on the sidewalk of a busy, noise - polluted street somewhere in the city. Today, these streets are packed with people, all going places (some seem to just be wandering aimlessly, in deep thought), crossing streets side by side. As they pass you by, a fusion of scents greet your nostrils: the different odors of their sweat, some even chance upon passing the unholy stench of gas both ways, from up and down. This makes you dizzy, though you can’t complain (aloud at least). The rattle of a street child’s cup of coins, you ignore that. You have way too much on your mind. Yet, you stand rooted to the spot. Smoke-belching vehicles soon decide to join the scene, emitting thick, black puffs of smog enough to send an asthmatic, or anyone for that matter, to the hospital. Some pass by as slow as turtles. Most of them, however zoom past you, leaving you in a momentary state of disorientation, your heart’s drum-like pounding the only proof of their passing. In the midst of all this, you unconsciously glance at your watch. 2:30, it reads. Suddenly, it occurs to you: The world moves so fast doesn’t it? We all must be racing against the hands of time, seemingly synched to the clicking sounds of a metronome. When does this race end? How much time does the world have? You start to wonder how much time you have left. Flashbacks of your life come back at you like a collage. One second, you’re younger and innocent. The next, you are who you are now ---- and most things you wish you could change. You, as an infant banging your rattle ceaselessly, tugging at your mother’s skirt wiping your tears on the first day of school. A vivid memory of the night you downed your first bottle of beer---too fast. Your first kiss was good (or better said, imagining what it’s like to be kissed). Oh, and who could forget you egg-rolling on the grass --- drunk? Do you remember the day you fell off a chair from happiness and shock as you checked to see if you made it in --- and you did? You can almost feel the weight of the school medals you garnered for speeches and writing competitions on your neck. You can almost taste the menthol from your first and only cigarette puff on your lips. The sound of your coughing says you’re never going to do that again. Heck, yeah. You made some bad choices, huh? Some good, of course – don’t worry. You’re not that much of a mess-up. You continue your reverie on the way home on the LRT (another one of the firsts you remember --- going to Katipunan. You looked so ridiculous, the only one with a huge grin on her face as you held onto a pole, finally knowing what it felt like to be a sardine in a can). Some time in the middle of the ride, still in your nostalgic state, you notice a bumper sticker stuck on one of the windows. It read “Slow down”. Under that, “What will YOU do now?”
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