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Open Poetry #37
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icebox
Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383
in the shadows

0 posted 2006-04-07 04:05 PM




I can not sleep tonight.
I am beyond tired I think
...I think,
that always has been my greatest problem
...I think.

There was a time
when I turned over every image,
every thought of you,
until they all were limp
worn scraps fading in my hands.

Awake or in dreams,
I would yearn for your scent
I would hunger for your taste.

I horded your shared feelings,
even those that reflected in my soul
without my consent.

I was greedy
for all the broad landscapes
and back alleys of your mind.

My ears would ache in a silence
that had been filled with your voice.

I wandered in a darkness
once briefly lit by the fires in your eyes.

With nowhere
to put down the bitterness I earned,
I lived in crowds alone
through years we could have filled
with your costumes and dreams,
your schemes and your faces,
with foolishness and majesty
instilled with the pleasures
that keep the soul alive,
but I have grown glad with age
for the life you have built;
I’ve no doubts about how well you’ll survive.

This new path you’re walking shines brightly,
I wonder how much you can see,
you ask questions that sometimes astonish
and I marvel at coincident thoughts,
but at times you seem blind to the pathway
while the wagons are circling slowly
around some parts that have to be free.

So, after these new fires are ashes,
after your new deal’s gone down,
when it feels like your whole world is turning,
remember,
once I was your own private rodeo clown;

if after the next bull has thrown you
when you feel the new promises broken,
when you’re crying for all life has shown you,
you might still hear words that were spoken
long ago when we both were younger
and the future still offered us hope.

Recently,
you compared me to wreckage
when your life almost spun from control,
the good that we once shared
now is long gone
with the memories that time always steals,
our soft nights
I know you’ve forgotten,
champagne fogs
and candle lit meals
we ate from one bowl with our fingers,
and all of the pillow talks wandered and faded
to become tomorrow’s yesterday deals,
hope,
just like me
also now old and forgotten
out of style with the dust and the ashes,
left behind
like the toys
and your masks
and my rope.

©2006 by icebox


© Copyright 2006 icebox - All Rights Reserved
passing shadows
Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577
displaced
1 posted 2006-04-07 04:08 PM


I've been wreckage too, my friend

a deep and soulful write, this is

iliana
Member Patricius
since 2003-12-05
Posts 13434
USA
2 posted 2006-04-07 05:11 PM


I like what you've done to the original, Mr. C.  I have a theory....that empty spot...there's something special to fill it...and actually, I suspect it has already been filled.  That's the "trap," isn't it -- the memories remain?   ...jo
Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley
3 posted 2006-04-07 05:26 PM


Well done..but there is one flaw in this...you are not now will you ever be out of style!!


scorpio
Member Ascendant
since 2002-10-02
Posts 5178
right...there
4 posted 2006-04-07 05:26 PM


Powerful writing icebox!!

believe in what your heart feels...

Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049
California
5 posted 2006-04-07 06:55 PM


Icebox

"I know you’ve forgotten,
champagne fogs
and candle lit meals
we ate from one bowl with our fingers,
and all of the pillow talks wandered and faded
to become tomorrow’s yesterday deals,"

How sad to have those wonderful things, then loose them.  

OwlSA
Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347
Durban, South Africa
6 posted 2006-04-08 12:57 PM


Exquisite, icebox, you write so beautifully about her always, but it worries me that you are in so much pain looking back, that you don't have good moments in your present and looking forward into your future.  Sometimes nature can comfort well, if you let it.  Perhaps you are happier than we think and perhaps it is just that you don't write about your happy moments.  I hope that is the case.

- Owl

The Lady
Member Rara Avis
since 2005-12-26
Posts 7634
The Southwest
7 posted 2006-04-09 12:38 PM




"There was a time
when I turned over every image,
every thought of you,
until they all were limp
worn scraps fading in my hands.

Awake or in dreams,
I would yearn for your scent
I would hunger for your taste"

Oh to be loved like that. Sigh...

It's a yearning, not forgetting, poem
icebox and it's just lovely.

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