London Poem: Day 181

14 February

Today we have love,
Wrapped in our hands,
Our sheets, and the desire
For pale blue coloured eyes.
Today we love, but of tomorrow?
Growing surely, Tomorrow
I will love you more.
The same pace of hours
Passing over; the same unchanging
Course of my affection.
To say I love you more today
Would mean I don’t love you tomorrow,
Which is not true.
With you, a day is never enough
To gauge what exists,
It is merely a chance for everyone
Else to live a day in our shoes.

London Poem: Day 180

13 February

Happiness is a simple beast.
Turning up in pleasant company,
And common destinations,
Shaking the surreal out of
What the life beyond calls banal.
The lights are dim,
Pulling our eyes to a pinch,
But in the process
We cut out the world around.
Finally, in the soft flowing night,
Wildly opening up, with cold and with stars,
We walk slowly, arm in arm,
Unconcerned with words,
Thinking only of the life together
We have yet to see.

London Poem: Day 179

12 February

Away in the galaxy,
Sweeping stars out of
The way, it is safe
To say, we are away
From home.
What colors,
What shapes,
To convince us of the
Modern age.
Though the sky has
Been swept away,
Cleared of any debris
Recognized as beauty.
You are enough for me,
The blank, black void.
You hover near during
Our blind travels, and
That is all I need.

London Poem: Day 178

11 February

Slow sloping hills
Shape the landscape,
And push us in toward
The appropriate path.
One dictated by nature.
We follow the line, our
Heads peeking upward,
Then down.
Back and forth,
Like rolling waves
Breaking, those heads
Lead us to follow nature –
To follow our blood.
But, what is blood but
Easy moving rivers
To force us to
Whatever ends awaits us?

London Poem: Day 177

10 February

You move lightly,
Like sounds along telephone wires,
Unseen travelling
From post to post, and then
To my awaiting wall.
You voice gives to me
The blind distance
To which timbre learns to tremble.
We give and get,
And you close yourself off
And sweep away the
Easy going night,
Waiting for the next
To begin.
For me, the night, and your
Sweet voice
Never end.

London Poem: Day 176

9 February

Time is continuously ticking,
Its revolutions beating off-time,
Begging the question:
How do we separate the grand,
Verbose statements from strictly
Spinning in the wild layers of
Misunderstanding? Are we
Beneficiaries of fate, or
Are we merely products of
Time folding over to make
Comfort a living thing?
It doesn’t matter, to stay where
We are will defy the varying
Threats to what we have.
So, lets us rebel; stay beside me
And let us, for the time,
Forget this whole thing.

London Poem: Day 175

8 February

We again move in circles,
Bringing life back to
Where it began.
Soft words, to encourage
Or to soften a rough existence,
Didn’t pass between us,
But distance travels in more
Than miles.
As time passes, memories,
Or rather, the mind, becomes
More vivid, romanticizing the
Ease in trivial encounters
As the ease vanishes with
The truth in thought.
I never forgot; I only ran
Out of means to proceed.

London Poem: Day 174

7 February

Far away, lives are lived
Without so much as a blink
Of the eye, but eyes can only
See as far as they reach.
What happens here, so it goes,
Is to unfold blindly, but does
It make it less true?
There is too much worry over
Truth and fury, ignoring
The here, while there grows
Into an intangible desire.
Believe it or not, but my
Here surpasses any far off,
Long reaching dream because
Mine exists, incarnate,
Beside me.

London Poem: Day 173

6 February

The earth opens up to swallow you whole;
Into great gaping jaws, you slip under
Forgotten, and everything carries on.
Blind to change, because nothing
Changes for me –
Too selfish to bend for you,
I blink and wait for my life to change.
However, such sight fails as the world turns
Too quickly to grab ahold of, and so,
It moves and we struggle to catch up.

London Poem: Day 172

5 February

So far the lines blur
Before words are ever spoken.
Half-involved by mere presence,
It’s difficult to deny our life
Ended that night.
The life we knew, resting
Flush with the earth, breathless,
We are children with only faint
Memories of where we once were.
From here there is only
Recreation, and then sleep to
Hide from the uncertainty of
What may come.
Be sure, though, lives may drift
Apart, love follows the same path
It has always known.