The Forge: Short Fiction: December 2003 Archives

Fool

When I'm with you
My thoughts are scattered in the wind.
Words that seemed eloquent in my mind
Become meaningless prattle.
Your motions, your answers,
Make me feel awkward and simple.
I am but a child,
But I know that you are no more.
I try to read your every glance,
I search out meaning in every syllable you speak;
I waste away my hours remembering
One smile,
One look,
One touch --
Trying to figure out what it all means.
Sometimes I'm afraid it doesn't mean anything at all.
So now you know that I'm a fool
Because I might send you a flower,
Or I might write you a poem.
Life is too short to be wise;
Maybe you could love a fool.

10/24/98

Were I To

Were I to try to write
A song to make you sigh, I might;
A rhyme sometime to make you mine,
A verse to make you curse, or worse:
A laughing line to hide behind.

Were I to summon muse and whim
With stroke of genius, stroke of pen,
To sear your eyes with trembling tears,
To touch your soul, to take you whole,
To bury fears and burn your ears --

Were I to let my fingers race
Across your spirit's tender place,
I'd win and woo and love and use you.
Were I to... but not tonight.