Do You Remember the First Time? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
With everything I can’t remember , a random memory will( it seems) rear it’s being at the exact time as I didn’t need to remember it… is it getting older…Hmmmm I’m not so sure…I’m thinking we lose certain memory’s to maintain balance ..with that said (just my opinion)…I read some of my old posts (I was in a very dark place for a while) but I never really remembered some of them …really weird …, I have also been dreaming some things from the past , dredging up old pain …. I don’t know why….I wish it would stop tho….any way I’m done rambling for now …Have a good night all…peace
‘conversation with you
was like a drug
it wasn’t your face
so much as it was your words’
Lucinda Williams
with light in my shadows
and cuts soft through my circles
you keep me from falling once again
but your words always did that for me
like that very first time
sitting in my old pick up truck
listening to Lucinda’s twang tell us
why we didn’t want that night to end
only you could convince
this shy boy to sing harmony
when it was your perfect voice
all i ever really wanted to hear
and my muraled furniture met
your folk art painted window panes
we got poor when greed burned the economy
chasing dreams i got crushed in its crossfire
‘We are not selling that truck!’
oh darlin’ you didn’t have to shout
everything i could ever hope to know about you
i would have heard your devotion in a whisper
and now our old truck
is getting some love in return
we shared these past ten years
and when she comes back
all painted blue and purrin’
wait for me again to turn the corner
from the side window like you did
and darlin’,
snuggle up against me
on that old bench seat
let’s listen to our song windows down
summer and hope blowing through our hair
talk to me like poetry
its essence of our love in your glance
and every word knows when to be
we can talk again ’til dawn
yeah, we can just drive all night long
many thanks to Sky Vani, for sharing this song and beautiful video.
feel free to play it low as a soundtrack, as i did while writing this poem.
.
as early as her day begins, it ends
a sad memoir echoes an empty room,
and she breezes through her motions
without a care in this world.
as if her love never really ended
wrote the diary, it’s last page.
wide cupped latte’
a quick croissant
and her habitual daily stroll
to every place they ever met.
she’s hoping without a prayer
he’ll be sitting there as always
in his favorite, corner chair.
she chooses spools of woven thread
from the French village mercerie,
that suggestive red dress
he always loved
and it’s noticeable tear.
as if life never did really end
wrote the diary, her last page.
