Summer scenes & tightrope dreams
no more than nostalgia seem.Ā
Sunlight eclipsed amber glass
mimicked Midasā golden grasp.
Tightrope walk, meet in the middle
you told me that you loved my giggle.Ā
I missed the signs, blind to the cues,
had a rather tough time believing that you,
Prince Charming, could ever be charmed by me
as I struggle to take myself seriously.
With one who flows beautifully, waltzing up walls,
Iāve regrettably made quite the mess of it all.
Clumsy fingers, clumsy words
dropped the paintbrush ā scared the birds
that sang to me on brightest days
āYou donāt understand,ā Iāve been told before,
āyouāre far too young to unlock that door.ā
Words I have whispered, poorly considered.
āWho says that?ā you asked, āKids, I guess. Later.ā
That moment, that change, like a drop of black paint
casting sad shadows of ebony rain.
Darkness brings forth fog & gloom
poisoning palettes & altering moods.
So I retreated, defeated, & watched you grow distant
eternally wishing to rewind that instant.
Hit the nail on the head, my only fear,
that you were unsettled by distance in years.
Still, I built it up beneath my feet āĀ
this pedestal of fantasies.
ātill it collapsed from under me.Ā
Imprisoned myself in the rubble, the mess
surrounded by thoughts too afraid to confess.
Connection, the key to be freed from my cell
the rope to help me climb out of the well.
Though perhaps I have hung far too much on this peg
as I stand here, cliff-side, on trembling legs.Ā
Iāve tried, for some time now, to write you a lovesong
but the melodies always just seem to come out wrong
ācause I worry with words & I doddle with diction
resulting in nothing to label nonfiction.
Rhetoric, rhyme; theyāre aesthetically pleasing
but beautiful nonsense should not be believed in.
So I pace back & forth on my risky rock ledge
ever mindful of the crumbling edge.
The trouble is, we assume we still have time.Ā
& I, if anyone, am guilty of this crime.
Iād been hoping perhaps I could figure you out
when I realized thatās not really what itās about.
I am no puppeteer, & I hold no ones strings
as everyone knows the caged bird wonāt sing.
Iāve truly tried not to be inconsistent.
Iāve been indecisive for all my existence.
& Iāve come to see that time waits for no man
the hourglass continues to drop grains of sand
& even though time is merely illusion
itās still just as real as the rest of confusion
Iāve been told if I let you slip through my fingers
Iāll find that forever the questions will linger.
Itās just that I feel very strongly for you
& sometimes it seems you are fond of me, too.
this tale is really quite tough to conclude,
to pinpoint that which Iām asking of you.
As you wander the world, you will surely be missed
& Iāve wondered before if I might could come with.
Yet I know that no matter my worldly desires
when it all really comes down to the wire
Iāve a long list of dreams & things to doĀ
& youāve got your own dreams to pursue.
I need nothing from you but to know that you know
even if you decide to go on alone
someone, somewhere, some place far away
will smile at sunflowers for all of her days.
True stories have no beginning or end
the sequels hide beyond the bend
& Iām sure one day we shall meet again,
If not this life, perhaps the next.