once certain, twice removed ...
© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.
i miss my youth
the prairie roads
carving poetry in
fields of dappled gold
a summer's harvest reaching heavenward
to the toppling clouds
of a never-ending sky
where every imagined
beast or beauty
was caught in the reflection
of the big rivers
that poured like holy wine
into a young boy's veins
a sacrament of sorts
you'd think
but more and more
a tattered collection of memories
not quite lost
but lost all the same
i miss the danger
of falling in love
with a perfect stranger
unexpectedly slipping into my life
of imperfection
i miss the jarred butterfly pandemonium
and the nervous excitement
of hands wandering across
the skin of unknown bodies
the silly giggles of encouragement
and even the whispers of
hesitant rebuke
i miss the softest cheek
against my cheek
when lips wander
to lips
to share the breath of love
and breathe the pulse of life
from heart to heart
blending the two into one
i miss the slow waking
from solitude
into arms that wrap
across my shoulders
and coax my body
from the cold
and carry me
into the warmth of knowing
that dreamers live
lives asleep
i miss the missing
the times apart
the you there
and the me somewhere unknown
so high above the world
in vacant night skies
the time or distance
or both
that divides improbable lovers
from one another
the words and promises
that reach across
crackling telephone conversations
of wounded longing
i miss the purpose
the obvious reason
for being who i am
that i see in a knowing look
from bright expectant eyes
or that i feel in the soft fingers
that brush my hair back and away
from my brow
but mostly
i miss every day
when i might have said
something hopeful
and was silent
the prairie roads
carving poetry in
fields of dappled gold
a summer's harvest reaching heavenward
to the toppling clouds
of a never-ending sky
where every imagined
beast or beauty
was caught in the reflection
of the big rivers
that poured like holy wine
into a young boy's veins
a sacrament of sorts
you'd think
but more and more
a tattered collection of memories
not quite lost
but lost all the same
i miss the danger
of falling in love
with a perfect stranger
unexpectedly slipping into my life
of imperfection
i miss the jarred butterfly pandemonium
and the nervous excitement
of hands wandering across
the skin of unknown bodies
the silly giggles of encouragement
and even the whispers of
hesitant rebuke
i miss the softest cheek
against my cheek
when lips wander
to lips
to share the breath of love
and breathe the pulse of life
from heart to heart
blending the two into one
i miss the slow waking
from solitude
into arms that wrap
across my shoulders
and coax my body
from the cold
and carry me
into the warmth of knowing
that dreamers live
lives asleep
i miss the missing
the times apart
the you there
and the me somewhere unknown
so high above the world
in vacant night skies
the time or distance
or both
that divides improbable lovers
from one another
the words and promises
that reach across
crackling telephone conversations
of wounded longing
i miss the purpose
the obvious reason
for being who i am
that i see in a knowing look
from bright expectant eyes
or that i feel in the soft fingers
that brush my hair back and away
from my brow
but mostly
i miss every day
when i might have said
something hopeful
and was silent
© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.
... sometimes .... hope itself ... lies within those empty silences ....
ReplyDeleteNot sure I like that picture ... it evokes a certain air of pissed off silence ~grin~ .....
"a certain air of pissed off silence"
DeleteYes, it captures my essence perfectly ... ;o}
I like it all, and I won't forget one minute ... xxx
ReplyDeleteWell, these days, memory seems more uncertain than ever ...
DeleteIt's called selective memory. However, the heart never forgets, especially when the heart is up close and personal. That is what I believe.
Delete