Poems of Love 
by BardtotheBone

Daydreaming

I can hear the voices 
roaring through my brain- 
The blurry shapes of people 
register briefly as they come and go. 
I stand near the big windows 
watching the airport workers- 
It reminds me of watching an ant hill. 
At first I wonder where they are from, 
these people, 
And where they might be going - 
But soon my mind is numb 
The voices change to a distant buzz. 
The sun begins its descent 
I watch it through the big windows, 
hiding behind my anonymous sunglasses. 
I put on my Walkman headphones, 
shutting out the low buzz 
coming from those blurry shapes around me. 
I lean my head back and watch - 
The sun is sinking slowly, 
The reds and purples and yellows are breathtaking. 
I find myself daydreaming 
of meeting her here... 
What a coicidence! I would say 
And we would look at each other, 
knowing it was Fate. 
I shake my head ruefully, 
as the sun sets 
Not only outside of the big windows 
but in my mind as well. 

07/16/01 

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Fate

You asked me 
about Fate 
My thoughts 
are this 
Fate would be 
meeting her 
somewhere in Europe 
Maybe a coffee shop 
Or maybe a smokey bar 
with funky new age music 
and lava lamps. 
Fate would be 
That feeling in my heart 
the one that I've 
never had before. 
It would be 
the butterflies in my stomach 
And the happiness 
In my heart. 
It would be the end 
of the Fear I have 
of never experiencing 
Fate at all. 

07/20/01

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Untitled

Sometimes I can still hear your voice. 
It always amazes me that I can recall it 
after so many years. 
I remember your hands... they were strong 
and tan. You had the blood of Indians 
running through your veins. 
Your fingers would gently strum your old 
battered guitar. You would smile at me 
as you played and at those moments I 
adored you. 
You would call me your little angel and 
you would say that every angel like me 
deserves a star. 
So we would lie in the backyard on the 
soft springy grass that smelled of soil 
and autumn. You would point out a star 
and tell me it was mine. 
It's not very often that the memories I 
have of you are good ones. 
It's not very often that I remember you 
without tears or anger. 
It's not very often that I have the desire 
to forgive and forget. 
All of the books say that I should. 
Anger is not such an easy thing to let 
go of. I use it to hide. I use it to 
continue... to face the day. 
Do you know what you've done? Do you 
think about it when you're alone? 
Will you have time to think about it 
a few moments before you die? If there 
is any justice in the world you will. 
My emotions contradict themselves. 
I remember your hands and your voice 
and your smile. I can still find my star. 
I remember your black hat with the 
number on it... though I cannot recall 
the number now. It was the hat of a hero. 
I remember feeling proud... though at that 
age I didn't know what pride was. 
I remember the terror of the dark... the 
knot in the pit of my stomach and the times 
when the sound of your voice was Hell. 
And who else but you was better equipped 
for Hell? 
Yes. I remember. 
Do you know what you have done? 

01/24/02

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Should You Ever Wish


Should you ever wish 
for time to stand still, 
lie awake in your lonely bed 
at 3am 
Listening to the owl 
outside your window, 
the creaking of the old house, 
the howling of the dog miles away, 
and the echoes of your own memories. 
In the dead of the night 
everything ceases to exist, 
even Time. 
Everything, that is, 
except the beating of your heart, 
the sound of your breath 
and the aching hunger in your soul. 

03/05/02

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