If Wishes Were Kisses

I fondly recall a lovely fair-haired angel,
Her memory though fainter with passing of years
I often held her hand as we sat close together,
imploring heaven to let the moment last forever

What I really wanted was to kiss her, as lovers
in the throes of passion are wont to do,
gently wrap her in my arms – but then
we were only silly children of barely ten!

Still, what a fool I was to let her go
Our lives diverged and parted so
How I long wished to see her again,
carry on that passion I’d dreamed we were in

Sadly it turned out this was never to be
Fate being cruel, also crushed out this dream
Death came for Starla and stole her away
and if I only knew then what I now know today

I would’ve held to that hand
with a grip stronger than steel
I would’ve stolen precious kisses
for the future to feel

Where are you now, my fair-haired angel?
Do you even remember my face or my name?
Perhaps you’re the muse that inspires my pen
Perhaps you’re the song that erupts from within

I miss you, my dear, if we’d traveled a different road
We might still be together to face the unknown
And if wishes were kisses and moments were lives,
I would treasure your love to the very end of time.

 

 

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I Don’t Want to Know

(Jun 1991)

 

I wish I knew what it was like to love
But I don’t want to know – I don’t want to know
I wish I could feel the gentle touch
But I don’t want to know – I don’t want to know

Too many lonely nights
Too many wasted days
Let another be driven to the edge of sanity
by the deceptive hand of romance

 

Love is too elusive, I’m not the first to say
The harder I search, the faster I run,
the more it slips away

Just out of reach, ‘tween high and low
Till it makes me want to scream
“I give up, Life, you’re so unfair!
Where’s the Justice in your game?”

“Justice,” Life exclaims with a derisive snort,
“a delusion of poets and fools!”
“I can’t be fair – it’s not my way…
I make up my own rules.”

 

I wish I knew what it was like to love
But I don’t want to know – I don’t want to know
I wish I could feel the gentle touch
But I don’t want to know – I don’t want to know

So many contradictions
So many mental scars
I seek to escape this restless isolation
And with a patience borne of a mocking ambivalence

Await … the chance …. to start.

Spring is in the Air

Spring is in the air
I’m told that’s supposed to mean
Lovers, rebirth, flowers,
Cerulean skies, leaves freshly green

But lovers, life, pretty flowers
mean so very little to me
They’re hardly more than echoes
of long departed dreams

Those fantasies have flown,
(Were they ever really mine?)
Lost amid the wreckage
of a poorly executed life

Who else is to blame
but the ghost there in the mirror?
The choices made and missed
must lead to now – to here.

And sadly here I sit,
watching seconds tick away
Motionless on an island
Wasted life, wasted days

I’m alive, I exist – I AM!
But what good is this to me?
I’ve lost the will to change
My eyes can’t trust to see.

The Passage

(a.k.a. Requiem to My College Years)

(Nov 1990)

Standing on the threshold of tomorrow
‘tween what’s been and what might be
I pause for a moment to find myself
both happy and sad with things I see

One eye looks forward with a nervous glance –
imagination lights the way
(It) reveals a thousand possible dangers
and just as many dreams
By chance and design,
left to fall wherever they may

Another eye’s drawn back with longing
and perhaps a hint of tear
To other times and people, too
who’ve come and gone in recent years

Time is quite the enemy…
strikes when you least suspect
Changes the seasons and unfortunately
the hearts of men
Contentment is fleeting,
only temporary at best

I see also a Spanish princess,
golden hair flowing soft and long
A princess I knew much too little in depth and time
our paths converged, then continued on

I dreamed she led me
“ ’twas her voice and hand in dreams, so true!”
But alas some dreams
have no time for romance
as I shall long remember
of this one, too

The heart is a lonely hunter
when it doesn’t know what it seeks
Life’s too short, sometimes too long
but the crossroads are many

And time moves slowly … inexorably … on.

(* The quote is from a poem by Antonio Machado)

The Siren’s Call

Each morning that I wake up,
I’m closer to being free
Each breath that I inhale
is one closer to my last

When death finally knocks,
I’ll probably run and hide, (but)
From a distance I hear the siren
She’s calling me to die

For now I’ll let her sing
I’ve a few things left to try,
More songs to bring together,
Silly poems left to write

But the dream will never leave me
She lives too deep inside
Whispering sweet nothings,
restless thoughts to cloud my mind

 

Geometrical Silliness

(and I swear I haven’t been drinking)

Unless our lives were parallel,
we couldn’t help but meet
The point of intersection
being more or less discrete

Our perpendicularity
is less peculiarity
than differing degrees
of latent similarity

You complement my supplement,
acute where I’m obtuse,
hypotenize my rightness
when my arcs are running loose

But alas our lines are infinite
The convergence cannot last
Our paths diverge to nothing,
the present to the past.