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Open Poetry #49
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Daylight Savings
| Open Poetry #49 |
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Daylight Savings |
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Mistletoe Angel 
since 2000-12-17
Posts 32816Portland, Oregon |
 Daylight Savings By: Nadia Lockheart 3/12/16 . . . ...Mary Stewart's Prayer, is still echoing in my sleep, just trying to be large in thought, in word, in deed, and take time for all things, grow calm and serene, just as you epitomized... ...it's been four long months, since there's been this much daylight, since the last time, we had our clocks rewind, now like the early cardinal, of late winter, I'm making up for lost time... . . ...but some mornings still feel, like the night before, slouching like a long lost friend, through that screen door, like an old Kentucky waltz, across a small town dance floor, every Friday night... ...do you recognize me, when you're dreaming, because your voice is the sound, of the rustic hills breathing, when you stare outside the window, of the great beyond gently, do you still see me chasing fireflies... ...chasing any last ember of your light... . . . ...like a red rose, tucked in a snow globe, I'm reminded of a time, where we felt right at home, now the world can't help, but feel so remote, when you're not close to me... ...but like the scarecrows, towering alongside Chesterfield Way, or the forlorn song of the steamroller, of the Iron Mountain Railway, or that wedding dress, preserved behind a glass frame, there are remnants of your glory days, that echo more than memories... . . . ...but some mornings still feel, like the night before, slouching like a long lost friend, through that screen door, like an old Kentucky waltz, across a small town dance floor, every Friday night... ...do you recognize me, when you're dreaming, because your voice is the sound, of the rustic hills breathing, when you stare outside the window, of the great beyond gently, do you still see me chasing fireflies... ...chasing any last ember of your light... . . . ...I've heard it said that real loss, only happens when you love, something more than you love yourself, and sometimes I still beat myself up, that when I was younger, I didn't listen to your stories well enough, now often my memory, feels like my imagination... ...that urgent glare of dusk, hushes like a whisper, but still stabs like a javelin... . . . ...and some mornings still feel, like the night before, slouching like a long lost friend, through that screen door, like an old Kentucky waltz, across a small town dance floor, every Friday night... ...do you recognize me, when you're dreaming, because your voice is the sound, of the rustic hills breathing, when you stare outside the window, of the great beyond gently, do you still see me chasing fireflies... ...chasing any last ember of your light... ...chasing any last ember of your light... . . . "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other" Mother Teresa |
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| © Copyright 2016 Nadia Lockheart - All Rights Reserved | |||
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jjote Senior Member
since 2002-12-25
Posts 1088Ontario, Canada |
lovely picture for a lovely poem, feels like a song actually with the repetition of verses that could be the refrain. |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
fine writing Mistletoe...james |
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ethome Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858New Brunswick Canada |
Great writing and picture.... I thought these were classic lines.... ...I've heard it said that real loss, only happens when you love, something more than you love yourself, and sometimes I still beat myself up, that when I was younger, I didn't listen to your stories well enough, now often my memory, feels like my imagination... Well done! Eric true love never looks after it's own interests |
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XGarapanX Senior Member
since 2008-06-19
Posts 1435Antarctica |
Not much I can say except, "wow, where'd you get a brain like that?" |
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