What I Want
I want to be
a breath eternized,
a harmonious duel
of notes colliding;
a deep hum like rain pounding on your roof.
I want to be
your familial need,
your strong cavalier,
and yet impuissant without caring.
I want to be
the sound of your seascape and
the harrowing experience
that brings your feet slapping again on my floor;
the sublimation that makes
me your chéri once again.
I want to be your car whizzing
through the slush on my road,
and your air as you breathe in slumber.
I want to be your remembrance.
But this? This is just doggerel my love,
empty tapping on a darkened window.
The Dance…
The sound of harmonizing guitars fills my dreams,
a sound to eternize in my memory.
Their duel of fancy is poetry sounded
in the chalet of pressing bodies.
Feet slap the floor to the sound,
in the familial dance of human experience.
The murmer of voices are impuissant when faced
with the strength of those strumming guitars.
Cars whizzing through the slush
announce the departure of
those with faces trapped in a cavalier facade.
For the rest,
the music sublimates the reason of the mind,
driving out thought like the sound of breathing in the night.
The doggerel of the world is left at the door
and the snuffy exterior of life is quickly forgotten.
Only the music remains,
its meaning an elusive longing,
and the desire to dance until the sun
drives out the shadows.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
What I Want
I want to be
a breath eternized,
a harmonious duel
of notes colliding;
a deep hum like rain pounding on your roof.
I want to be
your familial need,
your strong cavalier,
and yet impuissant without caring.
I want to be
the sound of your seascape and
the harrowing experience
that brings your feet slapping again on my floor;
the sublimation that makes
me your chéri once again.
I want to be your car whizzing
through the slush on my road,
and your air as you breathe in slumber.
I want to be your remembrance.
But this? This is just doggerel my love,
empty tapping on a darkened window.
The Dance…
The sound of harmonizing guitars fills my dreams,
a sound to eternize in my memory.
Their duel of fancy is poetry sounded
in the chalet of pressing bodies.
Feet slap the floor to the sound,
in the familial dance of human experience.
The murmer of voices are impuissant when faced
with the strength of those strumming guitars.
Cars whizzing through the slush
announce the departure of
those with faces trapped in a cavalier facade.
For the rest,
the music sublimates the reason of the mind,
driving out thought like the sound of breathing in the night.
The doggerel of the world is left at the door
and the snuffy exterior of life is quickly forgotten.
Only the music remains,
its meaning an elusive longing,
and the desire to dance until the sun
drives out the shadows.
Using random words and sounds, 2 poems were born. Quirky, but I like them.
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