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February 15, 2008
Poem - Sayings
They say:
You never truly forget your first love.
I’d say they’re completely wrong.
Until that day
When something may
Prudently come along.
In that way
To my dismay
She offered me her song.
A gesture so simple,
A heft; she knows.
Pounds down,
Stability erodes.
Her purpose: on purpose.
The time comes
When children eventually put their toys away.
Unfortunately for me
She’s unaware that time has passed.
So I listen,
Heart held heavy with her… heft.
This burden won’t leave,
It simply retires in moments.
My head clears,
I think I’m on my feet.
Then, in a swift, malicious feat
She’s kicked me to the floor,
Her burden back on top.
My first love
My eternal muse
My desolate waste
A mere child
One that cannot bear to let me be
Because I'm unable to forget her.
Will she forget me?
Well, as they say:
Nothing is more pure and cruel than the innocence of a child.
And when I see the joy flicker from her dark, devious eyes,
Knowing she plays past playtime’s end,
I’d say she’s just begun to sing.
Posted by pantaleo at February 15, 2008 05:51 PM
Comments
Perhaps appropriately, I frame (am framed by) this text poam by way of "heft" --that word is less expected (by me, by what has shaped[framed] my sense of expectation) than most other words here
--other words occur with neighbors where they are expected, but "heft" has no echoes, no slant rhyme
so the weight of the word and what it accomplishes is extended, increased --and the frame of "heft" weighs even more
(as it frames itself).
Posted by: thyliasm at March 3, 2008 12:29 PM
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