355. Footprints On The Pavement

Footprints stained into the pavement,

I now realize that you will outlive me.
I remember joyfully the day you were made
With pavement-worn, blackened, white-soled shoes
In a pleasant, warm, winter rain.
Now the rain and winter have passed,
The summer sun beating down upon you,
Yet marked on the pavement you still rest.
In the coming days my time here will end
Yet I take strength from knowing
Upon the pavement you will remain
                                                   even once I have left.

354. Innocence Lost: Sad New Life

There is your sweet prom date,
Up there, high on the stage,
For all the world to see
What you saw before them all.

Those cute girlish giggles,
The shyness as she tried to conceal
With those cute little fingers
What the world gazes upon today.

That now damnable childish laughter
That once was all your own,
Forever belongs to them now,
Forever tarnished by this tempting world.

Gone is that girlish innocence,
Gone is that long, beautiful green satin gown,
Replaced with abhorred innocence lost,
Replaced with nothing more than all too transparent lace.

So short a time has passed,
Not even two years fully gone by,
Since cuddly teddy bears were exchanged
For the stage, for the lights, for it all.

Turn away now, my sullen friend,
And lament for the years to come,
As the innocence you fought to end
Has not only faded, but now, is completely gone.

353. Conversations That Will Never Be

How I wish that I could have
A conversation today
With all of those who I knew
In that long ago yesterday.

How smart we thought we were
During the days of youth,
Hearts on our sleeves
Our emotions our only truth.

To sit and reflect upon it all,
To go back and choose again.
To speak my words of today
To those I knew back when.

I’d share smiles with foes,
Mend fences torn down,
Repair all of the woes
I left scattered on the ground.

But fleeting are the years
And while intentions abound,
Final conversations have been had,
No way to turn time around.

So, in my mind these conversations
Will forever and always remain,
Until the years take my brain,
Or perhaps, one day, our paths cross again…

352. Poor Little Boy

How I smirk, How I snicker,
For so superior a feeling
Is so near to hand,
When I think on your lover
Out to buy you a trinket,
And away he walks from the store
With the same old piece
The sales girl has sold
One hundred times before.

"What are you looking for?" she asks.
"I don't know," he replies.
"Something for my girlfriend."

Poor little boy, that this
Be the best he can muster!
Were the worlds aligned differently,
Were this yet another time,
Leave your lover standing alone would I,
As a Once-In-A-Lifetime Gift
Upon your world would I bestow;
The gift of a life that sadly, you shall never know...

351. Words Fight To Explain...

How do you create the words?
What magic do you weave on the page?
Even words fight to explain
How the very same words get formed and arranged.
Your mind is at work, fretting on some other task,
Some other dire business at hand, when suddenly,
Like a gust of wind at your back,
You are thrown forward and the words begin to flow.
No longer in control of your mind,
No longer in control of your heart, your hand.
Without further thought, without the slightest effort,
Suddenly, there they are…the words in black ink.
Then, as if walking out of the fog,
The words are done,
And your mind is yours again.
Read the words at that instant,
Read the words after years have passed.
While you forever know them
To be from your very mind, heart and hand,
They are still never truly yours,
As deep in your being, you know
The words were a gift from your soul.

350. The Dancer Loves The Dance

Softly, gracefully, yet forcefully across the stage
Your eyes move with her, darting over her frame.
You long to embrace her, sweep her into your world
During that very moment when all eyes are on her.
She encapsulates all that is beauty, all that is woman,
Yet for her love, your heart must always share that stage.
The dance will forever be her first and one true love,
You watching from the shadows, wondering always
If she loves you so very much as she loves the dance.
All of your strength you must muster, my friend,
For know it from one who has lost this very battle,
To be loved by the dancer is to be loved less than the dance.

349. Years Before This Day

What an awakening of words,
Had I only been able to utter
Your truths so many,
Years before this day.
What would you have shaped
My truths to be, dear friend,
At an age so very young
Which tried to be such an age so old?