Tracing Lines of Frost

At the onset, A profound peace. In chastity to silence, Our days of joy were born. The lines were clear- Or so it seemed. We chose redundancy, One voice, one choice. Like a bouquet of flowers, We were held together, Our hands, our love A tender, fragile tether. Of eternal dreams we dreamt not. Now’s now was our land. Tomorrow’s edge, Defined its end. We were lovers were we not? Never not forever never, Not forever never, Not ever. Of essence. Only presence. Of this we were sure: Love would endure. It was summer back then, was it not? I remember still, indeed I do, The sounds in your eyes, Of trees clapping, Of earth laughing, Of birds dancing, Of grass singing, Of the mountain, Standing above with folded arms, Rolling his eyes, Pretending not to see us, Purring like thunder, Hiding what no mountain could hide, Happiness I tell you, That mountain was happy, For us. It was summer back then, was it not? I remember summer’s musky breath, Our minds were lulled to rest, Pearls of sweaty dew, Like drops of lust we knew. Summer stayed, summer played, Summer sang, summer rang, If only summer knew, what you to me would do Summer would have slain summer’s false refrain Like a lonely guest summer lingered: The sun, soft and kind, Caressed our skin. In a nest of arms we lay, Two birds as one, As warm wisps of tender hope, Pushed tomorrow, Until another day… Our love was a dream, A lovely dream, Alas it seems, It was only that…. Of winter nights We did not speak Beyond the bridge Over yonder On the other side We dared not peak We heard the bells though.. It was hard to tell whose chimes its story In prose was told in words So ephemeral and light were they.. But for that one long throng Whose ring was wrong Oh that mighty throng O That ding That dong That tolled not for us But for everything But us Then The window of your face, Suddenly dead Frosty pain and cold stare, My fingers and nails scraped Tracing lines of why (Tell me?) Across your icy cheeks (Why?) Do you deny that through Us Lies! now Fields of snow Whose drifts your eyes Heavily pull down To words Down towards Down To the words Sleeping upon my open palms Where winter’s grief Settled Just yesterday —— As seasons come and go And rivers always flow Reasons dry and sometimes die Love is an art we never know -------- Note: Written circa March 2014. After thinking about writing poetry for many years I finally started “trying” to write verse only some months ago. This was one of my earlier attempts at free verse. Kind of a messy, kind of lopsided, kind of crooked and jumpy. As I don’t feel like working on it again but would rather mush onward I humbly submit this in hope that it will stand as a measure of future poetic growth.