Below is the poem entitled Summers over Sweet Princess which was written by poet
William J. Jr.
Atfield. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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William J. Jr.
William J. Jr. Atfield
Summers over –
You were the Helios, warm and bright
throughout my summer days and night.
You gave life, energy, yourself and light
to our adventure, our journey and flight
across this beautiful, vast land of ours,
along with all those wonder filled hours –
I perceived – reflected in your Autumn green eyes –
Angelic, warm ?, on fire ?, passionate ?, - what lies ?,
as hope, desire, dreams, broken wings, try and fly.
I have often wondered what I am ?, what I mean ?, why ?,
you bother – considering – with me, and I
also wonder why I remain enclosed here,
in fear of ?, and why I still want to be near ?
I wonder my Dear, ?, what would be ?, if I’d disappear.
My heart aches, my soul weeps,
my spirit cries out loud – it seeks
answers for all those moments – joyous – lost,
that may have been nothing more then the cost
for something that may have been nothing more
then figments of my imagination –
a dream that I am unable to unlock the door
to, for your dreams, your creation
have no room – indigent, disabled, old man,
uneducated – in the light of your master plan.
These lost moments come crashing in on my dreams,
even crashing in on my waking hours, it seems.
I see them now, on television screens,
and in that place, deep within, where these scenes
play out the beauty of passion, a hot embrace, a delicious kiss,
a loving look in the One’s, eyes – these I truly miss,
and see in every action, every reaction - between this world and the other, that remind me
of everything- with you – I want to be,
to experience, to develop beyond this place.
I see you in every beautiful face.
in every compassionate, passionate embrace
then I get lost, lost in these momentary
experiences of others – actors – as they carry
my spirit, my desire to what could be.
what might have been, if only all were free.
I then ache for all that will never
become, for you will never, ever.
I see you face on every act of love,
every act of passion, every longing look,
every gift given to another – gifts I would love
to bestow upon your soul – gifts you want,
and from me – I believe – want not
what I have to give.
We both have to live
the lives we choose
and have no choice
but to live.
B. J. “A” 2
February 24th 2008