Poem

A Poem from the Days

I have a little, blue notebook sitting on my bookshelf with almost nothing in it except for a short story I wrote 23 years ago. Sometimes I like to revisit my past. I like to explore complicated emotions from a time in my life that is long behind me.

It also doesn’t escape my attention that my complex emotions of the past are not always entirely in the past.

When I wrote this story, I called it “Poem”. I still remember writing it. I still remember the emotions going through my head when I wrote it. A part of me can even still feel them.

I’ve kept the story nearly entirely untouched. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings about it. What’s it like hearing a voice from my youth?

Poem

“God bless you, the rare, the unique, whose inner beauty and outer beauty struggle viciously for dominance, for each are uncommonly tremendous and alone would pull the most lost of souls toward them,” he said quiveringly to the one he adored.

“Please stop. I’m really not worthy of your praises,” she stated back to him, mildly indifferent.

Poem of Perfect Moments

“Today I watched a leaf fall to the ground. It swayed through the air as if it were the only breathing soul in existence and nothing around it mattered, only to fall gently to the earth in a spot where I pictured it resting for eternity. I felt as if you were standing on top of the tree dropping the leaves in order to give me such perfect moments, as I feel is the goal behind every word you bestow upon me,” he said with his fists clenched and his eyes closed.

“I really don’t deserve what you’re saying. Let’s go for a walk,” she immediately replied appearing somewhat displeased with the emotion behind the words he was saying.

Poem in the Eyes

“Did you know I spent the other night simply peering into your eyes? You were trying to tell me about last weekend, but I was trapped in the world I saw beyond your eyes. I felt as if I finally saw the mind I’ve been trying ever so hard to become one with. I saw you dancing freely. And I saw you rolling in the grass. I saw you picking flowers. I saw the thoughts that made me fall utterly in love with you,” he cried to her with unquenchable passion, fully expecting her to return his thoughts with the most appreciative of smiles.

She looked down. “I’m not really who you make me out to be. Things are not as they may appear. Please put aside your thoughts for a moment,” she replied, bitterly concerned.

Broken Poem

He chuckled naively. “With every sentence you speak to me…”

“Stop…”

“Your voice rests comfortably in my heart…”

“Please stop.”

“I don’t think I could ever possibly be angry with you…”

“Stop it…”

“This is by far the deepest relationship I’ve…”

She stood angrily and walked across the room.

A look of confusion overtook his face. She lifted her purse and turned, never once even giving him the satisfaction of a simple glance. A look of pain overtook his face. She walked from his room only to force him to assume she might return.

He waited and waited. He leaned back on his bed and buried his face in his palms. And he stared through his window at the empty ground beneath. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled at his hair. He pulled apart a flower. Then he grabbed for an old stuffed animal and squeezed it with all the strength he could muster up.

The Poem Ends

He finally settled back and accepted the fact that she was not returning. Thoughts attacked him ferociously. Confusion, pain, anger, and sorrow were whirlpooling through his mind. He couldn’t sit still for a moment.

He talked to himself for nearly three hours before calming himself. But one thought still remained dominant. After all his poetic words, after all his passion was put forth, after all was complete in his mind and after all the smoke cleared… she was right all along.