Another chapter ends
Just the same, another begins.
The prologue long past finished
The intro, and it, just memories.
Brought up then and again,
But only for a helping hand.
And so, another chapter begins.
Much to the contrary of the last,
(A bang was not the preferable route to suite this story)
A slow, waning, emotional start was the key to this one.
The contents of this particular story may have been that of another, once.
And if this were to be fact,
That story of the past might go something of this tact:
Biographical, in essence,
Meaningful, when observed in depth,
And honest, as a biographical story may best be brought up.
So, with the start of this chapter entering it's beginning phase,
Encouragement of an open mind and an open heart proceeds,
But this is not a warning,
For your expectation is what truly succeeds...
The Dawn arrived at another passed moment in time, the morning rush to greet the day. Out the door through the garden gate she headed to the car. Planted laid her flower bed once flourished with meticulous care, the sunshine, and fallen rain. Obtrusive weeds, sky blue, gold the light, diamonds the dew on faded blooms. From a sideways glance, she put the key in the door and fleeted a thought of when.
The hours rose to days, the sunsets fell into weeks. Evening came to another rushed end of the day. Out the garage, through the garden gate she headed to the house. He was her priority attended with meticulous care, the sunshine and fallen rain. From the kitchen window, she threw her garden a glance. Swaying in the soft breezes, the struggled blossoms beckoned when.
A weekend arrived with nowhere to be. With a key in the door the neglected garden, she planned to see. Gathering her tools she surveyed the plot. The weeds seeded from the ajacent yard. A chain link fence four feet in height stood between them. The thickly branched overgrowth extended several feet tall of the fence. She bared down in a lamented groan of when.
Without gloves and equipped with pruning shears, she snipped the branches one by one. Locked up in the twisted tangle, thoughts accompanied the tedious work at hand. He rested inside devouring his latest novel. She smiled. He despised yard work and yet took charm in her impulsive need to stop and pull a weed. Taking her view toward the house, the escort home, the Midnight stroll flashed in front of her eyes. She cared not the time, his hot mess nor her moral virtue. At the backdoor he leaned in for a kiss starting their forever. How different things were from when.
Time counted fifteen months since the devastated news. The doctor said there was no cure for the cancer he had. The chemo, the complications, he’d grown tired. He didn’t look the same. She exerted each thought with her manual clip of the shears. He lost too much weight. The treatment wasn’t working. Uninvited, there must be a way to rid the intrusion. The secateurs pruned through the fear of when.
Now in wild, scurried clips, the feelings came. The adrenalin built. The anger exploded. She threw down the hand pruner, ducked in the garage and emerged in the roar of the power hedge clipper. Emotional sweeps, falling branches poured to the ground. The sting of their broken dream, her face flushed the heat of red. The trimmed back shrubs cleared a path to the culprit. She powered off the hedge clipper. Grabbing the garden spade, she hopped the fence resolved to conquer the when.
He found her in the neighbor’s yard. Crouched down, garden tools at her side, wrestling with the last rooted trunk. From the sight, she needed more than a glass of water he brought. She wore bloodied cuts and scratches from the sleeveless tank and running shorts. Her repurposed boots were covered in dirt. He watched her. He looked around the yard. Not sure what had gone on, he sensed she had been in some kind of war. The chemo, the complications, she looked tired. She didn’t look the same. His expression grew in a concerned look of when.
With a yank, her hands slipped on the trunk. She plopped back on her butt and noticed him standing there. She got up with excited urgency in her voice. Heavy in her breath, she explained she needed a saw. She needed to cut the cancer out. With a brave smile, he asked to her come back over. She climbed the fence, dismissing the misworded and went on, convinced she’d be the prefect organ match. He held her and finally she cried out all the when’s.
The sun began its set on the horizon and with the last of the tied bags she surveyed her work, thankful her neighbor didn’t mind the clearing in his yard. With the garden tools back in the garage, she returned to the house and found him drawing a warm bath. The buried wounds he planned to see. Care to her garden was just a matter of when.
May 12, 2013
Tears on my steering wheel driving me home to farewells where new beginnings wait.
Dreams on my windshield driving me home to hope where courage takes its shape.
Radio tunes singing prayer driving me home to love where faith and grace reside.
Home is my heart that’s driving me. Open the windows to the autumn night breeze where it whispers, do not be afraid. My heart drives around street corners and paved country roads. A door to a journey where you’ll find me home.
October 17, 2011
Nighttime in Love’s light they happened. Proclaimed they've changed, they've grown to right the wrongs of too many times before. They managed still to screw it up just beyond their first hello.
They talked of Love, the choosing versus the falling, a discussion spellbound and full of promise. They danced in the light, their eyes wide shut from all the unfinished that troubled their honor.
Rather Love's light for one another, Fear's darkness pinned them against one another strengthening the blackness they carried inside. The giving came with an IOU. The willingness sounded like a sellout, the acceptance snuffed out by intolerance. They struggled to love, to be loved living in the frame that Fear created. Now they’re a casualty like all the others, another mark of too many times before.
Love’s light, Fear’s darkness dimmed. They tried. They wanted to right the wrong sadly too afraid to stay in the Light.
The art of a kiss from a lover’s night paints a vignette for their memory’s delight. An intimate setting in ambient light, their bodies lay with one on top of the other. Sultry emotion smolders the air while desire murmurs with half-lidded eyes.
Thick in a moon wine buzz, hearts race in hypnotic rhymes. Dreamy parallel faces, he brushes her back in circle formations. Led by the blue ice color of his eyes, opaque hues follow her mind.
Matched top to top and bottom to bottom lips meet in the vanished line of the horizon. A breath sweet to the taste, mouths warm the moisture within. Tongues twirl in an intertwined continuum takes Time to a heightened euphoric position.
The lovers immersed in the couch feel the sensation of a weightless float. The prominent twirl continues to roll in hills of infinite pleasure. Whispered sighs subdue the blue ice color of his eyes.
Wrapped arms in a tender embrace soften the erotic spell. She says she could kiss him forever. The portrait of a kiss, a synchronized creation infused to permanence.
For the lovers, this one kiss painted their perfect kiss.
A pocketful of posies is a verse from a nursery rhyme. Musically in the pocket and the band is synchronized. There are pockets for pennies and fashioned pockets to shape the derrière. A player calls the pocket to sink the 8-Ball much like his pocket when he's backed against the wall.
Sweet-scented herbs once believed kept the black plague at bay. Drums and guitars are the rhythmic grooves where dancers jig and sway. Find a penny pick it up, all day long there is good luck. Never alone and yet unaware, cell phones ring from butt-dialed clucks. Pool sharks hide from innocent gamblers much in his pocket when I questioned his answers.
He keeps me in his pocket convenience in its manner. Spirited, a thief he carries me along like a handkerchief. Taken out when needed, we are together apart. It certainly didn’t seem that way from the start.
In his innocence he focuses on one thing at a time, my friends however call him Mister Halftime. I know his scars, the damage done and see the tactics he plays to cover the pain. A renegade in his own mind, in the end he wore me out. I believe his heart is simply too afraid. Ring around the rosie my love he never found. A pocketful of posies the pain, a battleground. Ashes, ashes my heart falls down.
I woke up this morning and noticed you moved down my iPhone screen. Your name is going to disappear from my life having been someone I'm fond of texting with and I hate texting. I went back to bed.
It was the first Saturday from our last night together. I don’t know about you, but the rest of my week was crap. I was incredibly sad, my allergies brought on a migraine. I was in bed for two days. Maybe my sadness triggered the migraine, it was probably a combination of the two. Anyway, I made my way to the kitchen to check my messages and noticed your name was nearly at the bottom of my screen. I held my phone,'the reflection of our breakup starring straight back at me.
A lot of our relationship was lived my head, one aspect of which was your untimely replies. The majority prevailed the assumptions that Fear tried to reign and since I didn’t carry your actions to be about me, I was weightless in my love for you.
Oh, it was a struggle, I’m not going lie. In those moments I tried to make it about you when the real source of my misery was within me.
I don’t know when it happened,
when I no longer honored my personal truth.
May 28, 2014
Towards the end, I refered you as Mr. Half-Time ‘cause it seemed you were only there for the entertainment with no real interest in the game.
I can’t take credit from the moniker. It was a Saturday afternoon when I first heard the reference and it hit me like a linebacker’s tackle. I defended you immediately until I realized the truth in that hurt, my truth.
She didn’t breathe life to the nickname in the way I did. Her implication spoke to your sparse availability. To me, it was the missing intimacy. Every hello through the morning notes on the counter was just delicious. Damn, you were delicious, all of you. Our time together was pure decadence. It brought my mind to the brink of corruption.
Outside of loving you, know I really enjoyed you. Trouble was, I was benched most of the time and you were tripped up on the word ‘endgame’, so it’s no wonder the flags were flying on the field.
You’re becoming someone I once knew, my resisting heart won’t do. Impossible to forget you, my struggling heart won’t let you be. When Together’s silent betrayal brought Time’s torn tragedy.
Trapped alone in my thoughts, I tell myself to let you go. Know I will always love you. Our When Together's were important to me. Fate crashed into goodbye. We couldn’t talk it out and I still question why. I’m stuck in Time’s torn tragedy.
You matter. Your thoughts, the explanation, and whatever else you have to say. I’m worth the chance to try to understand. We are worthy of stay, however, that is to be. Instead, I’m leaving with Time’s torn tragedy.
A haunted memory from our unfinished story, you creep in and out of my mind. I’ve exhausted all the ways to let you know I’m here. Break the silence, to live life out loud is something you can choose to do. A silent heart is Time’s torn tragedy.
May 6, 2013
Today I woke my heart heavy with pain. Grieving, I visit the memory of you. Your eyes spoke to mine in the evening summer rain. It was there Baby that I first saw you.
Today I woke my heart you shook. Desiring, I ache the memory of you. You were careful in your touch, soft as you spoke. It was there Baby that I first felt you.
Today I woke my heart filled with joy. Reflecting, I cherish the memory of you. Your presence a treasure; a safety I’ve never known. It was there Baby that I first loved you.