Essence © 11/98, TJL
Kiss with heart and not with lip;
Touch with soul, not fingertip.
Fly together; not with wings;
This is how a true love sings.
The Contents of a Hair © TJL, 10/98
That strand of hair on my pillow,
Much longer and fairer than mine,
Was enough to give me a smile today
And force all my cares behind.
They just don't seem to matter as much;
Those worries I used to possess.
They just don't scream and batter so much,
Nor leave near so much of a mess.
There are dreams contained in that filament,
That lays in repose on my bed.
The dreams speak louder unto my heart,
Than words you've so lovingly said.
They speak of our days together,
And those that are yet to be.
They tell of the ways that I care for you,
Ways only you can see.
It's amazing that one single tendril,
One gossamer strand of your hair,
Can speak volumes of love and commitment,
Of fealty and tender care.
So, gently I pluck that tiny thread,
And hold it against my cheek,
Then close my eyes and remember,
There's no longer need to seek.
For, along with the dreams, it holds answers;
To questions long-standing and dear,
As to why for so long I've been looking through mud,
For the one thing that ought to be clear.
Out of this muck of confusion,
Arises a thing so pure,
That it stands up to shout, not wallow in doubt;
For once you can really be sure.
There's no need to further aspire,
Nor continue to seek in despair,
When all that you need is contained like a seed,
In the length and the breadth of one hair.
Love is Not a Place © 11/98, TJL
Love, like life, is not a place,
But more the way you get there.
It's all a matter of time and space,
And give and take, and share.
It means that as you go through life,
There's someone else to care;
Someone else to lean upon,
When life's too hard to bear.
When times are good and things are right,
Love makes it even better,
And when the bottom seems to fall
There's not some stupid letter.
There's talk and sharing, holding close,
And kisses and some tears,
Souls that share by double dose,
The things that calm our fears.
It's in the way one smiles and glows
When your other half is near,
And in the way your sadness shows,
When you've hurt that one so dear.
There's nothing quite like love to bring
A calm to those of us
Who have that special song to sing,
So full we feel we'll bust.
When Inspiration Dies © 11/98, TJL
Depressing things and loss of love, they give us easy wood
From which to carve out thoughts and words to make our souls feel good.
We deftly put our quill to paper, baring to the world
The things that bring our souls to ground, yet polish us like pearls.
The bad things that we suffer, make the words flow well,
They make us look inside ourselves where deepest shadows dwell.
Expose the shadows to the light; they seem to disappear.
The words don't come so easy then, and stick between our ears.
It's easy when life deals us cards that stab us in the heart;
To write the things that make it hard to live out our life's part.
Happiness and new-found love don't get quite the glory;
They give us joy instead of pain, and make for boring story.
People relish heartache; with it they have a bond.
Pain, it seems, can write in reams, but joy our words abscond.
When feeling sad our words are clad in cloaks of others' lives.
The one bad thing of feeling good is inspiration dies.
It's good that when we're feeling low, there're poems for us to put it.
One's head can put on quite a show, but it shouldn't run it, should it?
Poems are such small compense for being cut inside,
But it doesn't make me sad at all, that inspiration dies.
Just Yesterday, It Seems... © 11/98, TJL
Just yesterday, it seems, there was... well, there was... life as it was.
It was simple and fruitless; pointless unto infinity.
Bright spots were merely days of lesser grief.
Friends of old passed slowly, single file, into oblivion.
Constancy was life's inconstancy mingled with boredom.
No light, little hope, and little more than that of happiness.
Ropes of salvation occasionally thrown down, only to come up lacking solid anchorage;
Merely false messiahs beckoning me to further nothingness.
Avoid the sickening strands, I began to believe.
Pain waited at the end of each for the times I made the attempt.
Further proof, lessening the theory. Lessons learned, forgotten, then relearned through a lapse in memory.
Amid those perilous cords hung one as unlike the others as it was similar;
As infinite in its' depth as it was simple in its' structure.
The simple strength of its' nature shown plainly against that horrid plethora of imposters.
"Too far above me," I groaned inwardly, "Unreachable."
Having seen many strange and wonderful things accomplished through perseverance, however, I resolved to persevere.
It happened not on the first attempt, nor the several succeeding.
The miracle happened as I continued to reach, my success coming suddenly, without warning, when the rope lowered itself to meet me halfway.
Valentine's © 2/99, TJL
This day above all others,
Is more than all the rest.
It's a holiday for lovers,
And that's what makes it best.
It's just for those with others,
Who've chosen them you see;
And I of all am luckiest
Because you've chosen me.
Apologetica © 6/99, TJL
Words are scary things, I say,
For they allow us, day by day,
To make some fatal blunder.
They're made of glass, and show an ass
Too often, I don't wonder.
They issue forth with scarce a thought,
To all the havoc they'll have wrought
When last they come to land.
They turn and run the other way when jig is up and hell's to pay
And judgment's near at hand.
And when they're put in sentences,
To make amends with penances,
How weak they do become.
They all sound lame, and all the same;
"I'm sorry" is all that comes.
Where does one look for words,
When words have all run out?
When worlds are torn asunder,
And hearts are inside out?
You find them in the hearts
Of those you've come to hurt.
They come when comes forgiveness,
And anger's least alert.
*Music chosen by bolt of lightning, and sequenced by A. Luedecke, no copyright info available.
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