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poetry by lou sid linesman - on life, love & politics
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Maybe Not
Is it a lie?...
When the dry and sunless growth
Of yellowed emotions long untended
Cannot reach the promise of our words?
Or should we simply shake the dust away
And call it our first try?...
And term it a mistake?...
When we’ve matured enough
To love the truth...
Then it’s a lie...
But not before...
That Wednesday I first dared to say
“I love you”,
I so wanted it to come out true
But felt those words just die at birth...
And you knew it too...
No...you weren’t blind...
You’d found It just like me...
It soared and swooped
With more artistry than
A Ghanaian woman’s melody...
But we were weak and tempted
And growing all wrong...
That was why we fought
To silence each the other’s empty tuneless song,
We’d heard the music once and wanted it on again...
But shrunk to pay that unwavering price
In a currency we hadn’t learned to coin back then...
We did not have the strength of sun,
The selfless tears of rain,
The quality, the softness of the soil
To nurture and sustain
That one-time tendril Love...
So you’ve had to be alone,
Lovelorn...
You’ve had to grieve that loss...
And just maybe you will need more time
To let the landscape
Settle to match the mapping of your mind...
And my sweetest Baby
Just listen to this and listen to it good:...
I’ll only ever be looking the fool
On the day I give up
The most beautiful bloom I ever knew...
You...
But that testing Love it had to die,
To burn along with mine...
And how the flames burst up
And the sparks did fly...
And now the ground’s enriched
With all of our experience
And primed to bear a better riper fruit...
Believe you me,
This country boy knows
The intricate dancing-steps of nature’s way
As sure as our dreams by night
Will press together
Fermenting those berries we’ve gathered
By loving light of day
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
