A flower, to the altar floor, falls. Without grace
Or sound, or purpose, or understanding of why it must
Painted pigments fail when hiding soullessness
Just as our tears and sighs won’t raise it up

My father turned his head away from desperate eyes
So I looked straight and tried to make sense of it alone
And held her hand in church because it was something i could
Hold. Realizing it, and everything, must slip away

On hands and knees, darting frantic grasshoppers in
the strawberry patch, nostrils held amongst the mulch,
Surveying vantage atop the oak on the hill,

The years of my youth wasted in search of the past
without a relic to show, a lesson to forget yesterday.

And though, it seems, that all the while
We never really forced this powerful
and beautiful friendship to take place.
But let it ride it’s natural course
Through ambitious scene, and tale of horse
Radiating pity, love, and occasional remorse
Beyond a script’s own soulful embrace.
Learning, inspiring, and demanding desire
wrapped neatly behind her willful face
Allowing our spirits to soar and heartbeats to race.

Puzzling now, I sometimes ponder
Of our many pure by moonlight saunter
And how she seemed to read so clear even
the most hidden thoughts I held inside
She has a way of elevating
And easily, craftfully too, creating
Emotions, so reverberating
Only her, for this, can I sweetly chide.
But why, I question, can she take my stagnant
passion and williwaw it to a restless tide?
Conceiving this, from her, I know I can never hide.

Into her eyes, I peer slightly closer
To see what few can ever know, sir
What she really is beneath the skin
from which all that passion does exist
To make her dreams, oneday, all too real
To make her talents peak in appeal
To make her life the better deal
Crossing off each legacy on the list.
Experiencing nights, sights and earthly delights
where nothing she enjoys she missed
As if being loved to her was just being kissed.

And that, I guess, is what I truly admire
Her drive, inside, her radiant fire
The fuel that makes her continue to strive
to give and get what she can from life
Now who can disagree that they
Have declined a joy or slept a day
And forgoed a color for an imperfect gray
I confess I have, sadly, in times of rife.
But she, neither slept, declined, nor forgoed
to make herself intimate adventure’s wife
Leaving fear forever, for a walk along a knife.

You see she tends to dullen the point of words
And sends them down in groups, in herds
What once was great, with her is merely a step
above the bottom of a winding stair case
What is strong in life for her is no longer
The moment long must reach on stronger
She devours life with an infinite hunger
And begs for more at this stealthy pace.
She’s the only one I know that can destroy
weariness, and boredom she can surely erase
Pushing the ceiling beneath for a better standing place.

That must be why I require her near
She brings me high, and keeps me here
Allowing me too to feel that addiction for this new
elevated view of everything out there
I see much farther over heads of others
Lead my life by my own druthers
And pray my passion to get above hers
Just to keep it up with her own dare.
She works a banal cloth of day effortlessly into
an immaculate garb of night to share
And manages, before sunrise, the new day’s wear.

Heightening the former goals of mine
Repeaking all my senses with time
She urges the morph that sends me soaring
so proud of myself and what I’ve become
And all I give in retribution
Is my own liquified fire solution
A simple man’s sole contribution
That allows him freely inside to run
Allows him to take her outreached hand
across oceans, mountains, and worlds
In search of that forever-setting sun.