I love you
Is a poem/letter remembering the journey of love between a young man and his savior
It started early one morning,
my eyes were dim when the world began.
I was given an arrangement though I vaguely understood,
He told me about those callous times then he told me that I could.
The journey sounded so strange to me, the mission seemed so hard. So he packed my bags gave me kiss and sent me onward.
Each day I grew with knowledge and might. Each day I slept both day and night. Until that moment I knew I belonged as mother cried and dad said be strong.
I remembered the days filled with milk and the manna. The books that I read, the stories from grandma. Until that day I remembered my name and remembered my past, remembered my shame.
So as each of my days would come and would go. I held on to memories of the young and the old. And though each one would point me a prod me along, I would faintly remember a freedom song.
At first it was a whisper and then with shout, I heard every melody, each crescendo, each out loud.
So I ran out the door as fast as I could, with each ear and both my eyes wide open as I stood.
Perhaps I thought I’d see the author, perhaps I’d get to make my plea. I needed to ask so many questions about why would he choose me.
So as I turned to restart my race, I caught a glimmer so I slowed my pace. So each day I ran and each day I climbed, but I never did get to see his face.
Then one day while I traveled on some long and windy road. Broken by some passerby is how the story goes. So I made my way and I bandaged my wounds. I married my sweetheart as we jumped the broom.
We each made a vow we knew each could keep, we had a home, with some children and a bed which to sleep. But each day I remembered that sound that kept me awake. It never seemed that far way, it never seemed to go away.
Then one day while I was in the park reading my favorite book, I chanced upon another man who had a similar look. With muddled eyes and a gentle voice he shared a life with me. And seemed as though he heard the voice of the one I couldn’t see.
So each day we met to eat some lunch or share a joke or two and met some other passerby who didn’t have a clue. But even though our paths were laid, we took time to enjoy
the lives we made.
And remembered the lives we left behind though some were pleasant while others unkind. We all returned home to do it again. We all woke up to where we began.
And although the friends and faces have changed. All the stories we shared remain all the same. Our shoes all had some dust on them, our brows perfused with sweat. Each day traveling that windy road to see what we could get.
So it’s early to bed and early to rise, some filled with sweet while some fair unwise. But no matter the people or the roads that we meet, the toil that seem to fill our days or the turning of our hair to gray. That rich melancholy in a life called today, when all the plans of mice and men will leave us stories of where and when. The race
I was in your shoes and write a call
The mind of a poet, the pen of a friend.
The lonely nights once spent together, and words they hoped to send.
The callous chains of rhetoric that their souls had never shown.
Thier mingled words they couldn’t send and the thoughts they left alone.
That ladder perched against our heart, the efforts of climbing they wouldn’t start.
A resting Godot on a plain
called sublime.
And those silly epitaphs we tried to unwind.
Our faithless fathers in the grasp of another, and fetters subdued for those sinful brothers.
A piece of parchment I kept nearby, to answer the questions that ended in why