Not a day goes by that I don't forget to say goodbye
to a past so long ago but not long forgotten.
But when mere days turn to decades,
my comfort smothers my gratitude,
and so the cycle begins to begin again...
Like a falling spool of infinite thread,
I am at the loom plucking with blind fingers.
She burns with an explosion of warm light, growing and shrinking;
her soul is breathing before me--
her thoughts, her visions, her desires, her decisions,
attract attention as electric magnets--
spread flat atop metallic rooftops.
When she strays too far from my heart, an aching soul shivers
like naked shoulders under frozen nights.
But upon her return my sickness lifts--moist morning fog,
dripping up the face of a stained edifice.
Her ignorance to what she is, what she gives, what she defines
allows her to continue to innocently change my life.
She is the reason the seconds pull themselves around hours,
she is the cloth that dries my tears and the echoes of my laughter,
her face is within the piercing sticks of the sun's fingertips,
tapping onto the windows of my morning.
Her voice, a drifting flame, stings the sleeping icicles
as they slip from the eaves of my evenings.
Her eyes glisten with liquid, silver-kissed teardrops, trapping light;
mirrors against crunchy grounds of an afternoon blizzard.
My eyes need only see the secrets in her smile to be of use now,
my ears--to listen for her wants--to capture her wishes
like the swaying in a dandelion's rhythm;
its motions to the humming of the wind's lullaby .
To describe my everyday before the day we met as a life defined...
is like calling out upon a forest with no trees--
its mere name argues against itself.
So, to title a feeling, to put a name to the passion behind this love,
would be as simple as slipping the stars behind a satin pillow,
as bottling the bubbling current that swims under ocean eyes.
But, if I did find this feeling within a few letters,
my voice would weep when I spoke them.
A life beginning within the beginning of its middle
gets to exist upon its dreams until its ultimate end.
God indeed made my heart beat that night,
but she was the reason it asked to beat again...
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Author Notes
I wrote this poem for my wife and it was just read at our wedding. We were engaged within 30 days of meeting. It truly is pure and unconditional love, impossible for words to explain, but I owed it to her to try...she is my gift from God, my personal proof of His love for me. I had a severe accident that almost took my life. He saved me for her, made my heart beat. So that line is quite literal. She is the reason my heart asked to beat again...
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