By Stephen |
Date: 2002 Jun 12
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I wanted to write a poem on romance visiting you whenever |
you walk around in public places but always being behind you
in the form of faint footsteps. It would have been grand.
It would have had the spring leaves swooshing in the air,
and devious squirrels dropping acorns on sidewalks fooling
you. You'd see what I meant if I wrote it. You'll see what it
was like knowing that maybe your true love is only a couple
steps behind you, and following your every move. But they'll
never catch up. They'll never catch you up. If I wrote it,
you'll feel the pain as you read line after line. You'd know all
those regrets; like staying in class longer while leaving work
earlier. Missing your soul mate over and over from ignorance.
You'd feel the need. The urge for someone's comforting
arms around you when you talk in whispers about your
insignificant day, and how it was so worthless without them.
You would have loved my poem. It would have had everything.
From rhymes to hidden signs
lines and painting, _LOTS_ of /word\ p~a~i~n~t~i~n~g.
It would have been just the right poem for you. The poem that
made your day, or even changed your life...But alas, I'm afraid
I'll never write this poem. In these late hours I couldn't bring
myself to the task. I must hold back, knowing, fearing that maybe
you, my love, wouldn't understand my poem. You may find it
hard to grasp my true portrayed intention. I just hope, that
eventually you may find somewhere soft in your heart and forgive
my dry pen. Because if I could just write this damn poem for you,
it'd be greater than gold.
From roses are lipstick reds to violets are waltz'n like Blue Danube.