After much brouhaha over my poem Survivors, I am reluctantly putting out another one for your perusal, but this one has a request: Tell me what it means to you.
It is all about you.
Contrary to all of my noon posts for a week, eh? Well, this one truly is about you. When writers show you their creative side, they are offering you the soft spot. You can stroke it gently or sink in a dagger. Either way, the writer gets much-needed input to hone the creative process.
What did you hear?
Communication is rarely an equal opportunity two-way street. More often than not, what we say is interpreted by our recipients into something completely different from what we meant. (Cue game of telephone for giggles.)
Listen with your heart.
Please read the poem with your mind and heart open. Tell me what it says to you.
The hours ebb and flow, though I have
no concept of their passage.
I see only those things I can reach
here in the inky darkness.
Faintly in the distance, I hear the bell,
but daren’t assume it tolls for me.
Yet, still I wonder, if at the other
end you hold my happiness.
Reluctantly, I raise it to my ear,
coaxing only a breathless, timid, “Hello?”
Warmth engulfs my body and soul as
your sultry voice purrs into my ear.
“Hello, my love,” and my eyes close
tightly, conjuring your face before them.
I feel your embrace for a moment before
it fades chilly away without you here.
As I put down the phone, an overwhelming
emptiness replaces your warmth.
My soul so desolate the desert seems
lush, should you choose to compare.
Was I right to torment myself with
what I cannot have?
To punish us both for the precious
time we fleetingly share?
Would only the chance present itself
where we could ride away
With the top down, we would drive
toward the mountain skies,
Stopping only to drink in the natural
beauty, inevitably interrupted
By our own desire, slaked only when
locked in each others’ eyes.
Author’s Note: If you enjoyed this poem at all, please visit its original home and vote/rate accordingly.