HIS MUSIC AND MY POETRY

My words fell in love

With his music:

Head-over-heels in love.

Like the golden rain from above

That sprouts the seeds in my loamy lands,

To flourish in lush black

On stark white fields,

His music let my poetry

Out of the cage,

And together they flew,

Into the eternal blue;

Love knows no season, no age.

My words danced in joy

At the footfall of his voice,

They trembled at its silken touch;

My lines to life sprang

When he unknowing sang,

My poetry that much

Did his music love.

A beautiful rhapsody

With no beginning, no end-

With him around,

Life was ever a song;

A happy couple they were,

His music and my poetry;

And though I knew

It couldn’t last long,

While it did, they truly loved,

His music and my poetry.

Silence at Supper

Of late, she noticed,

He always complained:

She was either

Too sweet,

Or too sour;

Too spicy,

Or too bland;

Too dry,

Or too greasy;

Too sharp,

Or too salty;

Too hot,

Or too cold;

Too raw,

Or over-cooked;

Too heavy,

Or too light;

She never was

Just right.

And now he sat

Staring at the soup

She'd served;

Staring beyond the bowl,

Beyond the room,

Beyond their home,

Beyond her.

"Is the salt right?"

She asked quietly.

"Yea, just right,"

He mumbled,

Spooning it up,

His eyes still

On the just-right soup-

Staring beyond the bowl,

Beyond the room,

Beyond their home,

Beyond her.

And she knew why

She never was

Just right.

Outside,

She saw night fall,

Fast and heavy,

Like the silence

Inside.

Thus sat the two,

Three shadows

Danced on the wall.