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my latest attempt...
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The wind is blowing through my hair and I see your face and try not to stare, into the mirage I can see right through, I can see the wind rip through you.
As the pieces scatter dust to dust I remember the day you felt we must ride down to the lake to touch the water.
And I can see the wind ripple the glass, and you turned to me and I heard you ask:
"Do you ever taste the wind, to hear its tale, where it's been? Does it kiss your face like it does mine, whispering its secrets down you spine?"
And I laughed and smiled and kissed your head, and said that you must have read...what was that book?
No one remembers the authors name, he never found his courting fame, some things never change.
I never finished that novel,now it sits and collects dust, but every now and then I feel I must have read it in my sleep or a dream somewhere.
You remembered the characters like they were old friends, and spoke of their deaths as if it were the end of not a great epic, but a love affair.
And again I laughed and smiled and kissed your head and said that you must have read a thousand books.
Yet you speak of each as lovers past, and grieve, and morn, and even fast your sins away, as each would ask.
And we laughed and kissed, and you touched my face, and I knew what you were about to say...
unfinished
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To Home
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As the sun descends and the moon rises to take its mighty throne, I know where my heart belongs and it forever pulls me home.
the dusty road I walk on, stones between my toes, the dog on the street watches me, and I know it knows.
the mocking bird sings to mock my song, but I carry none.
a fiddler fiddles one last time, as the moon replaces the sun.
wrote this one when I was 15.
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