Mornings have always been the hardest,
waking without the anticipation of you.
With you, each orange glow sunrise
was equal to a seasons change.
Waking to your emerald presence
was like rising to perpetual spring.
Each new rose washed dawn of you
was my soul's renewal.
The nights haven't been any easier,
the jade moon just hasn't hung in
my ebony sky quite the same.
I know it misses you as much as I do ...
(You loved the night most of all)
Midnights mist of silence fell upon you with a healing breath of
solace, the silver promise of the stars caressed your scars ...
and in the unfolding of darkness, you finally knew peace.
God how I miss the way you filled my nights with lyric and rhyme.
You made the music resonate off the stars ... playing my
heartstrings with the same slender, stroking, fingers that
enchanted your beloved piano keys.
And oh how I miss your smoky voice ...
the way you persuaded me with poetry,
captivating me with cadenced content.
That's what I miss the most of all ...
the contentment that came from your company.
The completion I found as a woman in just listening
to you breathe as you slept.
The seasons have come and gone now for almost
two full cycles since you took merciful flight.
Summer's magenta heat must eventually surrender
to fall's crisp anticipation and glorious color ...
Indian summer's golden grace will be ushered in soon
on a yellow harvest moon, Autumns arrival is assured.
Only nature is this constant, keeping all her promises ...
Autumn sends her invitation of change, delivered on
velvet winged messengers, speaking of things to come.
I have quietly watched them for several weeks now ...
The Monarchs have begun their whispered migration,
their sudden, abundant, orange presence is nature's
guarantee of the next season's gifts.
As I sit here on my porch of morning, watching the
marigold sun crest the horizon, I ache in confess
that I have not kept my butterfly promises.
I also know it is not a coincidence that my soul searching should
coincide with the Monarch's journey towards unending warmth.
Like so many times before, when I am the most lost ...
you send me a sign, offering me a path to follow.
I no longer question this magic, nor look for the logic.
For love needs no reason, no logical explanations,
no need to ask the how or whys of your little miracles.
Like how my flower beds are lifting with winged fluttering.
As I sat here among the Zinnia's color burst rainbow,
I was almost expecting this ... expecting you.
So when that one Monarch floated towards me,
then touched down on the rim of my mug ...
I smiled and then held my breath,
trying to hold on to this moment of you.
As it rested, opening and closing its fragile
wings in perfect orchestrated slow motion,
I could hear your whispers upon the winds ...
reminding me of all that I have lost sight of.
I have been holding my breath for far too long now.
"Butterflies are meant to be free"
As I raised the mug up, the morn's humid breeze lifted
your messenger, returning to its journey of instinct.
And I know once again ... you have given me destination.
Even back then, I wasnt happy with the line breaks of this..Still, I didnt want to totally rewrite it, as the words always came from another time and place and I dont think I should touch that...(I did take out a few lines and now glaring cliches} but I wanted to restructure it in a more poetic presentation than those previous blocky big verses....yet all I did was make it longer.
ah well.... succinctity will never be my strong suite.
Sharon... thank you again.
Kacy ... thank you dear one
to both of you.
thank you Vante... always.