booksartyoume

'to the microphone I'll go' timothy r g, 4/01/2008 (for you, this day)

Souls,
old souls,
friends
lovers, somehow know
we don't always understand,
nor do we presume to,
we simply know, somehow.

to the microphone I'll go,
read lines,
heart and soul,
old and new,
pausing for others to see themselves
their loves, hurts, sorrows, beloveds
heaven and hell
in my words
-being, now, theirs.

skeptic, yes
romantic, positively
in this world of narcissism's delight
somehow, somewhere, what
I is eclipsed by we
-smile, I will.

another's grin,
not in the same place of space,
she'll know,
not hearing a word,
intuition will bring a tear, somehow
(happy tears, I've called these with my children)
she'll know
-old words, new words

in the room
someone else may hear, too
they'll know
-this skeptic,
romantic,
loves love;
he's here,
he's reading here,
he's smiling about a celestial hug

in another place
she will know, somehow
the warmth he feels as finishes his lines
the flushed face others behold as he is expended
the sweet tiredness he is glad for
-now, he
permits it to go to her.
and,
say,
'thank you.'

'one more tear' timothy r gates, 3/31/08

one more tear,
but where from?
how did she find another?
this time not from the moisture,
water content of her frail frame.
this time from her heart,
the remaining blood-flow,
one beat remaining.
will anyone notice?
i lean down, over to kiss her, gently
on her nearly drained frame,
reframing from any passionate embrace.
Now,
I pray,
I wait,
for her,
the beloved to awake