Strike An Image

I had thought that by now I'd be a silk laced image in her beautiful, brown eyes, by now I'd thought I was her's to hold and to keep, to snuggle with in lonesome nights, when there was nothing on the television. I felt my heart jump from such nervous butterflies swaying and soring in the pit of my stomach that i'd be her's to call her own. When I saw her... she smiled at me. When I first said hello... she blushed and combed her long, lucious hair behind her lovely ear; I'd thought by now, i'd be her's to keep. now, winter has emerged and i am cold in a garden, which lay dead roses who were once all blooming and fresh smells of beauty filled the atmosphere, now it is a garden of snow and greyness. nothing more is there to say, but to look back on past memories and shed one gloomy tear, no more of her smiles, and laughs we had shared in the hallways of life and the blushing, the rosey cheeks, and nervous smiles, stumbling over tongue twisting words, such as "I love you" all just a dying rose, in a dying garden, in a dying heart stricked with the dead cold of winter and she is gone, no where in sight, hell what i'd give up to be with her one more night, to strick up a conversation, for about an hour or two, drink tea and coffee, not coffee, for i remember it used to give you headaches, and read the most romantic of poetry! we'd laugh a storm that would swallow jealous hearts and we'd be happy together, for one more night, if you'd only return my calls, if only you'd look at me at all the school gatherings and class funtions, just to give me an innocent nod to let me know that you still care. by now, if you are reading this poem, I had striken an image in your beautiful mind. come spring, I hope and pray that you will be there for me, as i was there for you... through thick and thin, throughout such tragedy and celebration, i hope you are there...