I Write About You

1343536-1440x900-[DesktopNexus.com]Love touches in many ways, sometimes it flows, brushing the heart as would winds whoosing the fields; and then other times, it is harsh, and cold and hurtful. Nevertheless, if love is true then lovers overcome; and suffrage is sweet and sour, an untethered force, driving them together while ripping them apart. Other than life, the greatest gift is love; and absolutely, it is worth and worthy of sharing.

Love doomed to failure once touched me; alas, its tenderness offered no meaningful relationship. Truth, at times, a talon of hardships, aids to clear the mind; and whether the heart aches or, eventually hurts, still, the risk, the dare, the adventure into peril is exciting. She was most beautiful  and one of the best loves of my life.

For her, I penned and presented four poems; “I Write About You” is without membership to the group. This poem occurred subsequent to our end, yet speaks to her memory. Uncertainty prevails; but whatever the truth,  the woman greatly impressed me.
-Writer.

—————————————————————————————–

I Write About You

I’ve always wanted to write a song
I never knew what words I should use
I know very little about life
But I know something about the blues

They say when writing a song
You must always have a good hook
Maybe I’ll happen into a Library
Sit and stare at a good book

Mumbling through the words
No fancy phrase comes to mind
Well just a few more pages
Perhaps, just a little more time

The Library walls whisper my name
And still I’m sitting here
Like so many others before me came
I’m Mach Five going nowhere

Bookshelves echo tinkering mites

Tirelessly meeting the task
I’d question my reasons
For trying too hard
But there is no one to ask

So, I grumble my way out the door
Agonizing from disappointment
Like a spider’s endearing medicinal sting
What foolish fly would want it?

Chasing the Jester’s piper-less flute
To an unknown distant place
The more I think about writing a song
The more I can see your face

A lovely sight if ever I’ve seen
As I pledge to shoulder the fight
I sell my soul to diamond dark eyes
In a lost and nothing night

A quest for unyielding passionate thirst
Consumes my weary mind
Suddenly, the words for which I search
Are no longer hard to find

For when I want to write a song
And find it difficult to do
I think of someone oh so special
Then… I write about you

© 1999 D. H. Rhodes

Anna: The Passionate Tomb

fragmentation rouge
ARE YOU HERE?

By Delbert H. Rhodes

 Staring into her eyes, Tony feels wounded by her sorrows. Anna is hurt because she cares for Tony, and though he has produced creative works inspired by others and especially women he has written nothing because of her. Tony aches for Anna, she is special to him and he loves her. Attempting to quell Anna’s anguish, he speaks while holding her hand.

“There is reason that I have not written because of you. My feelings for you are so delicate; they are powerful. I fear that if I were to produce works inspired by you my passions would entomb me. Then for the life of me what could I do.” Her heart pounding Anna begins to tear. She intently listens as Tony continues.

“My dear Anna, you are young, and beautiful and I am much older; your life, your friends are strange worlds to me. We are too different; I could not relate.” (Tony withdraws from his desire to hold Anna.) “You have a boyfriend; you love him. I am alone and I love you. The circle suffers fragmentation, too many obstacles to a meaningful connection. Anna, what should I do? Should I expect you to leave your boyfriend, to surrender all that you are to him, giving up everything you have with him? Am I the fool to dare such thoughts? No, Anna. Yes, sweet woman, I want you; but what should I do and what would become of me?”

Tony’s pleas deeply affect Anna, yet his words ring with sincerity, truth. These last moments, and although all Tony has said she feels and truly knows, still, Anna must honestly acknowledge her passions for Tony. For seven years, she has loved her boyfriend and engagement soon follows. Oh, what should she do? Her eyes welling with torrents the distraught woman says nothing, she sadly turns, and then walks away.

Copyright © 2012 Delbert H. Rhodes