Just her…nevermore.

It slipped away, almost suddenly. This is how it works for me. Once something special, now something just there. It was like this before and will be again. i close myself up and you lose that part of me.

It isn’t your fault. It is like a bird perched on a finger. It sits and sings for you, but one wrong movement and it flies away. I am that bird and though you never heard me sing, I sang nonetheless. Perhaps you will finally know loss, when you stop and hear silence.

I have turned, I have seen through the veils and the mirrors of me. Now you are just a person living her life and I do not care as much as I did. It is not your fault, you were never more or less you. It is I that has turned and seen there is something ugly. I aspire to reality and you aspire for the  same. Once here I can shrug as you have so many times.

I am as a shadow. Still though, I am a friend. If you can accept that I do not see you as I did, we will be fine. After all is said and done, you are not what I believed you to be and I am not what you thought I was. I am a man, that sees you as just a woman, no different from any other.

Can you live with that? I can and everyday I remind myself that what you were…well that was a fairytale of an old man. I sit with Poe and say…

Quoth the raven…nevermore.


Her…the world.

There is something about her,

Something that only I see.

She is the world,

As much as one can be.

Her smile is as the ocean,

So wide and clear,

Her heart as the fields,

Open far and near.

She is subtle,

In her manner and poise,

she is quiet, unassuming,

Yet full of sweet noise.

She is hard and soft,

Confused, but sane,

Your heart simply breaks,

When she is in pain.

She is the world,

From what I see,

For the world is

Always spinning and free.

Be not in reality.

It was written on her brow,

raised above the eye,

questioning and inquiring,

blaming with a sigh.

She had a way about her,

a single minded brain,

and though I just wanted,

she always said the same.

In fantasies we fondle,

like teenagers in the rain,

keeping warm by pressing bodies,

an excuse for the game.

I sigh at gentle memories,

like scavenged bits of tin,

for only in this memory,

will that love begin.

She Fades Like Gypsy Magic.

when the day calms,
the noise just retreats,
the world seems to stop,
the air becomes sweet,
with fragrance divine,
of lilac and rose,
as she dances in fields,
with rings on her toes,
she appears from the light,
from the dew and the grass,
she is pure beauty,
this mysterious dancing lass,
you follow her movements,
her spins and twirls,
making you dizzy,
this wondrous gypsy girl,
she is heartache and love,
you don’t know why,
her luminous skirt,
like wings of the butterfly,
you are caught and alive,
you swing to her hips,
you see the pure beauty,
you want to taste her lips,
as the day turns to eve,
and the field looses light,
she fades into memory,
gone with the night.