Can he get angry
Without being convicted
Can she cry
Without being rejected

When she's hurting
Does he feel the pain
Is she fanning
The lover's flame

Is she suspicious
When he's late at work
Does he still embrace her
When she's at her worst

At the end of the day
Is he still the one
Whose fiery passion
Could melt the sun

When the day is dark
Is she still the one
Whose brilliant smile
Could pale the sun*

True love's the hope
We most all cling to
But to find it
We* must first be true

For we won't find it in strength
Inspiring awe
We find it in weakness
In the ugliest flaws

I met love one summer that felt like spring.
When honey was sweet and all the honey bees lurked.
The butterflies would flutter and the birds would sing.
What were the odds of a love that could have worked?
I loved him that summer, a subtle love it was.
We blew like the breeze going our separate ways.
Like the wind summer was gone, just because…
The years went by, there remained the summer days.
I went through the years falling in lust.
Oblivious, Love was left in the summer breeze.
My heart was left in the rain to rust.
The rain rusted my heart with ease.
Broken like the wings of a dove.
Like a slaughtered sheep, I was thrown aside.
I never knew you, I never knew love.
Until I fell by the shore and was swept by the tide.
I was swept in your arms, you swept me away.
I fell back to the summer I always knew.
This summer love was here to stay.
Somehow I have always loved you.
The rust melted off my broken heart like butter.
You mended my heart with gentle fingertips.
I felt the breeze and loves sweet mutter.
Summer is here, sweet honey drips.
I met love one summer, and left it behind.
How could I search for love elsewhere?
I searched for love, and still I did not find.
Love was waiting for me in the summer air.
He always loved me, and he loves me still.
God created a love that I could not imagine.
I give you all of me, I love you until.
Until I die in the summer garden.

                            ~~~♥~~~

I need you. These I forgot
As you turned your back on me
And slowly drifted away

I love you. These I disowned
As you broke my heart
With your last goodbye

I miss you**. These I displaced
As I knew you were gone
And not coming back

Will it be worth it
Writing you a poem
With these words
I can't even afford

I will be safe in his arms
waiting for you

So tell me what you want to be
And what you think you need of me
For what you do
You will become
As habit makes it part of one

For habits grind and clearly shape
Rough edges smoothed,
some dreams may break
Then, from time to time
There’s someone who
Will melt or break a part of you
So once again your shape does change
Though it may feel you’re just the same

It may take another, looking on
To see the shape that you’ve become
So maybe that should be my role?
Some sort of yardstick of your soul?
But then again, I will change too
So perhaps we’d better muddle through
And focus on the spark inside
The flame that undiminished shines

And if, as said, that change is certain
It will never be the final curtain
So embrace the change in me and you
And love the flame that shines on through

Am I just absurd
Or is it inbetween the words
That those tiny spaces shout
What this relationship’s about

The pause before the sigh
Or the sparkle in your eye
Just before you crack that smile
And once more put on the style
Of a life that’s just a breeze
And your role – of course, to please.

For I think it may be true
That, inbetween, you feel it too.

The station Tannoy’s so polite,
Train’s here but late; commuter’s plight,
Doors opening, pushed to platform’s edge,
As the herd of bodies forms a hedge,
Will she be there?
A gap, way in, a scramble of feet,
The desperate scans for a vacant seat,
With a jolt and a whine we move away,
Packed with the faces of one more day,
Did she mean what she said?
Past fields and cuttings the city nears,
People gaze blankly, no smiles, no tears,
Blurred names on platforms pass with a rush,
London workers in etiquette’s hush,
But where to meet?
Slowing through tunnels, lean and rock,
Roll under the canopy, groan to a stop,
We pour from the doors like arterial bleeding,
Swept in the flow, haemorrhaged carriage receding,
By the trolley, she’d said
Moving fast, with their own motivations,
The eddy of souls takes me out of the station,
Pull out of the crowd, out of the flow,
Onwards they march to the tube lines below
But we just hold tight under J.K.’s fake signs,
And expression finds space,
Between the lines.

RD@2009