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In a retrospective, off-the-cuff mood again. This poem springs from the aftermath of a 7th grade dance, the weeks that built up the experience and the forty-one years after. Hmmm. Should a person hold such intense emotional bonds to an experience that happened over four decades ago?

I suppose the point is almost moot as the experience drives much of the poet that underlies my brain, or so I’ve determined. If none of this makes any sense, simply throw it off as my poetic license to write something my heart desired to write, and allow me the pause for a sigh, and I will return to the present momentarily…

 

I can’t write you a love song

Though you stroll my heart,

Haunt the inner passages

Entwine my light and dark.

 

No chord is struck within me

That does not your story tell

No song could be so winsome,

So melancholy, so pale.

 

I strive each day to recapture

Love – high, soaring, intense,

Love, tender, yet engulfing,

Pinnacled the night we danced.

 

Forty-one years my lens has focused

On the heights and lows of love –

High when close I held you,

Low once forever gone.

 

Is it true, I may never recover?

One-sided connection – heart in pain?

Twelve is no time for love

Cycles repeat again and again.

 

Yet, there you stand in memory,

Hair, long past shoulders, smile, so quick.

My arms grasp only this present moment

Hope marinated in sadness, heart sick.

 

Twelve is no time to have met you

Twelve knew nary a thing

Lured by thrill of adventure,

Songs, our hearts would never sing.

 

I can’t write you a love song

Though my life has painted one true.

My cycles of love enduring

Each lover whose proven…

she’s you…

 

My Poetry Books:

Loves Lost and Found

Poetry in Black and White

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