“What’s the matter, baby ?”
She asked me on that cold
December day.
I lay on the sofa,
With a smile on my lips
And tears in my eyes.
“Nothing.”
I lied into her ear.
My body betrayed me.
My smile had a warm sadness,
And my tears had a dancing joy.
And like she always did,
She saw through me again.
And I was glad she did.
For what she told me next,
I can never forget,
“Its human,
To feel this way once in a while,
Baby.
I remember the last time I felt this way,
Was when you carried me home,
In your arms.
It was because,
I have seen hills,
Valleys
And rivers,
So many of them,
But none of the roads that lead to them,
Drive me like you do.”
And gosh,
The startling truth in those words,
In your eyes,
In the warmth of your body,
Meant the birth
Of poetry in me.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
“What’s the matter, baby ?”
She asked me on that cold
December day.
I lay on the sofa,
With a smile on my lips
And tears in my eyes.
“Nothing.”
I lied into her ear.
My body betrayed me.
My smile had a warm sadness,
And my tears had a dancing joy.
And like she always did,
She saw through me again.
And I was glad she did.
For what she told me next,
I can never forget,
“Its human,
To feel this way once in a while,
Baby.
I remember the last time I felt this way,
Was when you carried me home,
In your arms.
It was because,
I have seen hills,
Valleys
And rivers,
So many of them,
But none of the roads that lead to them,
Drive me like you do.”
And gosh,
The startling truth in those words,
In your eyes,
In the warmth of your body,
Meant the birth
Of poetry in me.
Request permission to use this poem