Read Letters to Dandelion Online
Authors: Xve
where no one could really care a
pound less?
This is just my guess,
as I will confess,
to the confusion and duress,
of the pain I feel in my chest,
from the weight of Death,
as it hangs above my sorrow-filled
soul.
It’s from the hurt that I feel,
cause I know the deal,
of Why –
When a woman walks by,
How my heart aches as it she steals,
with her cat like ways,
as her body does sway;
I could watch her for days,
as the sun does play, shining
off her unimaginably beautiful face.
Voice of Harpsichord grace,
with hair that shimmery shines above,
pretty eyes, covered in skin tones
of smooth cold gold.
From her speech, I’m just sold,
On Her, to Her and for Her.
If only she would know.
If she could just take the time, to see -
She would find – that, as I am told,
She would simply become my world.
And this is true, I tell you,
this is what she can instantly do …
Her beauty can find the will inside
for a man to cry and feel justified.
For a man to endure, this destructive world,
For a man to rise; to rise above the fold.
For a man to refuse to get a wink of sleep,
For a man to work hard towards his dreams,
For a man inside to find the light, or
a man outside, to trade his life.
A Woman’s beauty chases away all of men’s fears.
Her beauty can make him stronger, smarter and feel
younger in years.
A Woman’s beauty punches a man in his stomach,
makes him shake with waves of nervous snow.
Her image can make a man feel inadequate, until it’s you
he gets to know.
A Woman’s beauty can unravels a man’s plans, shatter
his carefully crafted mold back to that of a five year old.
From the Beauty of You, You precious souls,
It is your Beauty that has shaped this entire world.
When a Woman shares her beauty with a man at night,
and the connection between the two is right,
this is the action that gives him all his might,
to take on the world in a stand up fight.
He’ll be the Soldier, who develops a sixth sense to return
home.
He’ll be the Doctor, who works harder than any other.
He’ll be the Teacher, who envisions you in the classroom,
Or maybe the Poet; writing you this heart-filled sonnet.
But make no mistake about it,
The Beauty of a Woman is a gift, which serves
as more, than as just a covering of skin.
It is the key to where all humanity can win.
Because a man strides, a man conquers, just to find that one
Beautiful Woman, the one who he can lay the
spoils of plunder down at her feet.
In hopes of calling her –
His complete own.
It’s never returned
and she never
cries
No matter what I put out,
it never comes back.
My boomerang is broken
and the return policy
is null and void.
She never cries, because
she’s a tough little girl,
in a beautiful shell,
and full of herself,
but not in a bad way.
It’s never returned
because, I must be cursed.
Of course, that’s the
reason. Because I say
the wrong words,
in the wrong seasons.
Yet, she’s so beautiful,
when she’s laughing,
and talking,
and walking.
She’s brash and painted
and delicate.
She smokes,
and jokes,
and loves her
puppy dog.
I love her.
But, it’s never returned.
I can’t tell her,
because she gets
antsy and afraid.
It’s beautiful when
she cries. Because
that’s a world all
in of itself.
And she never lets
anyone see that.
She let me see,
and I believe,
in her heart.
Her will and her
desire to change,
to grow, to be
a better person
and to live a full
life.
She doesn’t want that
with me, however.
But the world is a two
way street, and I love
everything about her.
So, it’s never returned
to me.
Oh God, send the Angel
of Death quickly.
I’ll even set out milk
and cookies.
As I’m just a long, lost
loser blowing like a
grain of sand in a
storm around her.
She cries, because
she’s been hurt,
and she’s given her
heart,
and she knows
where she is.
She is delicate, under
all that scaffolding.
She’s a work in progress
trying to fall in love with
herself,
So she can love someone
else.
But, she won’t pick me.
So, what I feel is never
returned.
It just burns, going on and
on and on, like the unwatched
comet.
In a sea of blackened
nothing.
Nothing Romantic About the Pain
Who knows what happens,
When things go wrong.
Who can say when the music bleeds,
Dead away, from a song.
And Rhythm no longer seems to move your feet,
Food is tasteless every time you eat.
A person’s smile makes you react as though it were a frown.
Even the sun shining every day, seems to get you down.
You look at yourself and can’t find your own face.
You remember past loves and feel such disgrace.
Were there hard words?
Deception?
Betrayal?
Actions that made you curl,
Like a snail?
And creeps your mentality to a daily, conforming slow –
Only you’ll know – and to attest; to the cloud in your head
the pressure in your breast, of a heart that is continually
breaking.
Your body lies aching ... under covers, hiding from the
world
of reality, bending your mentality and wreaking havoc to
woe.
Reality – is this so?
Is it reality or just the one you now must know?
NO ! You truly don’t.
Believe me – There’s nothing romantic about the pain.
Nothing luminescent about constant rain – drizzling in your
spirit.
Get with it!
You’re so young,
So beautiful,
So free,
Just talk to me.
Walk with me,
Spar with me,
Compare with me,
Argue with me,
Cry with me is you must –
I’ll do all I can to help you crush,
Those old bad memories to dust.
I’d do my best to make permanent, your smile.
And instill a repair of goodness for a while.
I know – Me, you don’t need all,
But while walking in darkness, isn’t light considered a
friend to prevent your fall?
How about a real person, - who an ear they’d gladly lend?
Like a person who’d stick with you till the very, very end.
Don’t let some good words – scare you away.
For you, if you’ll let me, I’d be there to stay.
No, no doormat rules here need to apply,
Lift those pretty eyes up to the sky … and SMILE.
I’m not much,
Not rich,
And definitely not pretty.
But you ask me things so impossible to do,
Such as forget and abandon you –
Can’t do, sorry, not my creed.
Can’t stick to surface subjects or passé feelings.
I’m just too real.
But, don’t fear,
I won’t disrespect or overrun you –
I just want you to know, for you – I’m simply here.
Allow me something
… Say anything … or am I nothing?
When
I have you in my arms,
is
when my life truly begins.
It’s
when joy lifts its head,
and
my heart loudly sings.
It’s
no secret that I am madly
in
love with you.
And
things are wonderful,
when you’re lying next to me.
But,
when you’re gone, and
I
haven’t seen you in a while,
that’s
when I cry sometimes.
Because,
wondering, is not so
wonderful,
and the reality of
my
arms being so empty, says to me,
that
I’m just lying to myself.
It’s
sometimes too much to bear.
My
mind goes into hyperactive,
and
my thoughts race in a fury
of
concerns.
Where
are you?
Are
you hurt?
Are
you worse?
I’ve
heard every word you tell me,
and
I understand truly where you
are.
I do.
But,
the one thing that is universally
true
about life is – things always change.
And
nothing stays the same forever.
I
have cast my feelings and my hopes
into
the wind for you.
I
have raised my voice in prayer to
love
you, to hold you, to keep you,
to ask for your safety and to request
your
peace of mind.
I
have written out my emotions based
on
the millions of seconds in a day
that
I think about you and long for
you.
And
I believe in you.
Because
I love you.
Funny,
the title of this seems to ask
for
so many things.
It
sounds demanding, doesn’t it?
But,
that’s the irony of poetry.
It
can be like two extremes,
much
like how you and I are
as
two people.
Dandelion
– I am deeply in love
with
you.
So,
I won’t ask you for anything,
because
I’ve heard what you’ve said,
and
I know I am not - a nothing.
And
as I reach out to you,
wanting
one day to find your
precious little hand waiting for mine.
I
hope and believe, that someday
things
will change.
Someday,
my love with shine through
into
your beautiful eyes, and into your
undefeatable
heart.
Someday,
you can trust me enough,
and
feel total liberty to allow me to
provide
for you and your boys.
Someday,
you may completely
love
me. Somedays feel far away.
I just don’t know…
So
many things,
and
it’s not a good place.
Stepping
on a set of wings,
It’ll
be so long before I see
again your face.
Feel
my endorphins rise in
hunger for your luscious body,
as
it dances sexily in place.
I
believe you care for me,
but
just on the surface.
While
I rage in my heart,
to
hold you all day.
My
tears will trace a line to
wherever
a land.
My
arms are not long enough
to
reach you, but my words are
felt
to me - to root, then bloom,
then
die.
I
just don’t know, if I will ever
see
you again. Tomorrow is promised
to
no one, and have a safe trip can
spell
anyone’s end.
I
just don’t know if I will touch you
again.
And what a loss to the museum
of
senses that tragedy will be.
I
just don’t know if I will hear your
voice
again, or your laugh, so I may
as
well go deaf.
I
don’t know if I will feel your love
again,
or if I ever felt it, so let’s be
real.
Nothing
in life is ever wasted. And
there’s
no point to even writing a poem.
But,
it seems more that all things are
carefully
planned in this spray of mist
so
fine, interwoven and grand.
As
I said before, we are tiny droplets of
water,
falling to the floor, and meeting,
bumping,
rubbing up against one another
before
we eventually dry out and
disappear.
I
was destined to have met you. We both
agreed
about this in some other form and
some
other reality.
We
intersected on the blueprint of life,
and
what a fucking large print that was.
It
was planned that I would love you,
chemically,
physically, mentally, emotionally,
who
knows, maybe we snuck out, away from