They may try

to hurt me

with

their words . . .

–

–

–

.

.

. 

b

u

t 

–

–

–

my voices 

torture more

than

anything said

or done before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

i

s

.

the 

saddest 

note,

.

.

o

f

.

.

the

saddest 

verse,

.

.

o

f

.

.

the 

saddest 

song,

–

–

ever

heard . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

filling

.

m

y

.

soul . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

filling

.

m

y

.

void . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

filling

.

m

y

.

distance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

the

.

m

o

s

t

.

heavy,

–

–

haunting,

–

–

resounding

–

–

sound

.

.

o

f

.

.

all . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

along

.

w

i

t

h

.

everything

.

I

.

might

. 

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ along

.

w

i

t

h

.

everything

.

I

.

might

. 

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

i

s

.

the

dance

.

o

f

.

the

dying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

dying

.

o

f

.

dreams . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

dying

.

o

f

.

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

dying

.

o

f

.

each,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

the

fires

.

o

f

.

foreplay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

courting

.

o

f

.

cocaine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

taunting

.

o

f

.

Tanqueray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

touch,

.

.

a

n

d

.

. 

the

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

taste

.

o

f

. 

ANYTHING

.

w

h

i

c

h

. 

might

–

–

take

.

i

t

.

.

all

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

the

fires

.

o

f

.

foreplay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

i

t

.

!BURNS!

!!BURNS!!

!!!BURNS!!!

–

–

everything

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ until

.

y

o

u

.

finally

awake

.

a

n

d

.

proclaim:

“I am going 

to make it 

!MY WAY!”

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

“I will like

and accept

myself 

!ANYWAY!”

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

.

i

t

.

.

!BURNS!

!!BURNS!!

!!!BURNS!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

y

o

u

.

awake

.

a

n

d

.

proclaim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ until

.

y

o

u

.

awake

.

a

n

d

.

proclaim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

– 

simply

lie

.

i

n

.

wait,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

then

.

j

u

s

t

.

die

.

t

h

a

t

.

way.

Reflection: This was a forgotten personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in May of 2018 where the affected party regularly attacks himself/herself with his/her own internal negative voices. These internal negative voices pale in comparison to anything external going on in his/her life. The unforgiving, self-destructive habit not only creates a life of misery but also leads him/her to pursue external remedies – external remedies which conspire to make things worse. And we get the feeling that the internal – external negative cycle will continue until the affected party either finds a way to break out of the negative cycle or pays the ultimate price. This is one of the few poems I have written that was inspired by a play. I had gone to the Orlando Fringe Festival back in 2018, and saw the play called “Awake,” and the poem largely wrote itself from that.

I

.

poked

.

m

y

.

pokey

.

in

.

d

a

.

ho,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

would

.

n

o

t

.

let

.

i

t

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

would

.

n

o

t

.

let

.

i

t

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

i

l

l

–

–

–

I

poked

.

i

t

.

slow

.

r

i

g

h

t

.

thru

.

d

a

.

choke . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

poked

.

i

t

.

slow

.

r

i

g

h

t

.

thru

.

d

a

.

choke . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

once

I

broke

.

d

a

.

hold,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

“oh!”

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

could

.

n

o

t

.

stop

.

d

a

.

flow.

Reflection: This was a fun and simple reflective/nostalgic-themed poem I wrote back in April of 2018. I came up with this while sitting on the Boardwalk in Daytona Beach. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what this poem is really about. Perhaps this could have been the lyrics to a simple song in the “Super Mario Bros.” movie, game, or something.

I

.

a

m

.

so

absorbed

.

b

y

.

you,

–

–

there’s

.

n

o

t

.

much

else

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

there’s

.

n

o

t

.

much

else

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Just

.

a

.

passing

glance

.

o

f

.

warming

desire,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

a

glowing

.

twig

.

ignites

.

i

n

t

o

.

a

!FOREST FIRE!

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

drop

.

o

f

.

rain,

–

–

stirs

.

i

n

t

o

.

a

!!HURRICANE!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

drop

.

o

f

.

rain,

–

–

stirs

.

i

n

t

o

.

a

!!HURRICANE!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

Just

.

t

h

e

.

thought

.

o

f

.

an

.

a

l

m

o

s

t

.

touch,

–

–

explodes

.

w

i

t

h

.

intensity . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

explodes

.

w

i

t

h

.

such

intensity,

.

.

I

.

.

cannot

perceive

.

w

h

a

t

.

a

greater

want

.

o

r

.

warmth

might

bring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

cannot

perceive

.

w

h

a

t

.

a

greater

want

.

o

r

.

warmth

might

bring . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Perhaps

.

i

t

.

would

.

b

e

.

like

.

a

taut,

–

–

narcotic

shot,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

then

!!!GONE!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

one

day . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

two

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

three

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

!!!!AGAIN!!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

four

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

five

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

six

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

!!!!!AGAIN!!!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

seven

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

eight

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

nine

days . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

!!!!!!AWAKE!!!!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

o

–

–

–

the

painful

–

–

remains,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

knowing

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

!!!!!!!NEVER AGAIN!!!!!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

somehow

within

.

t

h

e

.

shell-shocked

haze,

.

.

I

.

.

begin

.

t

o

.

recall

.

t

h

e

.

subtle

trace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

subtle

trace

.

o

f

.

that

face . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

t

h

e

.

forest

fire

!FLAMES!

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d 

–

–

–

then

.

t

h

e

.

!!HURRICANE!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then

.

t

h

e

.

taut,

–

–

narcotic

!!!SHOT!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

– 

then

!!!!GONE!!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

know

.

n

o

t

.

when,

.

.

I

.

.

w

i

l

l

.

find

–

–

myself

–

–

again,

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

still

–

–

somehow,

–

–

somewhere,

–

–

someway . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

love

.

i

t

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

love

.

i

t

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

love

.

i

t

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

a

n

–

–

–

that,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

everything . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

d

i

d

.

before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

there’s

.

n

o

t

.

much

else

.

I

.

c

a

n

.

do . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

because

.

I

.

a

m

.

so

absorbed . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ so

absorbed

.

b

y

.

you.

Reflection: This was a forgotten personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in March of 2018 where the affected party has a severe addiction problem that he/she just cannot shake or break away from. It’s the kind of addiction that can easily consume his/her entire life and turn his/her world inside out and upside down. It can represent any addiction type: drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, compulsions, etc. I’ve had experiences just like this with certain people. There are very few, select individuals I’ve encountered in my life that can have such a power over me. And it’s both intriguing and frightening at the same time. Someone I first met back in 2018 had that kind of effect on me.

I

know

.

t

h

e

.

end

.

i

s

.

coming,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

I

slow

–

–

every

step . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

know

.

t

h

e

.

end

.

i

s

.

coming,

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

I

soften

.

m

y

.

breath . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

end

. 

i

s

.

coming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

end

. 

i

s

.

coming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

end

. 

i

s

.

coming . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Only

pale,

.

stale

.

moments

remain . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

this

place . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

on

.

t

h

i

s

.

page . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

I,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every

.

t

h

a

t

.

remains

never

.

s

e

e

.

you

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ we

.

w

i

l

l

.

never

.

s

e

e

.

you

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

.

.

.

I

soften

.

m

y

.

breath,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

I

slow

.

every

step . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Each

moment

.

begins

.

a

t

.

one,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

then

stretches

.

t

o

.

ten . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

stretches

.

t

o

.

ten,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

then

.

begins

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

begins

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 It

begins

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

begins

again . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

don’t

want

.

t

o

.

let

.

i

t

.

show . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

.

.

.

I

don’t

want

.

t

o

.

let

.

y

o

u

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

don’t

want

.

t

o

.

let

.

y

o

u

.

go . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

.

.

.

I

hold

on . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

hold

on . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

hold

on . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

.

I

hold

on . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

A

final

kiss . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

final

touch . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

final

glance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

A

final

hush . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then,

–

–

everything

.

i

s

.

gone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

then,

–

–

there

.

i

s

.

nothing

left . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ nothing

.

l

e

f

t

.

except

.

t

h

e

.

linger . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

lingering

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

lingering

smiles . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

The

lingering

tears . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

r

o

m

–

–

–

all

.

t

h

e

.

while . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

More . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ now,

.

I

.

miss

.

y

o

u

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

miss

.

y

o

u

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

than

.

e

v

e

r

.

before.

Reflection: This was a forgotten melancholy-themed poem that I wrote back in March of 2018 where the affected party experiences a heart-wrenching loss. This poem was primarily inspired by the moving ending of the wonderful movie: “Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool.”

I

.

a

m

.

filled

.

w

i

t

h

.

the 

faith,

.

.

I

.

.

might

find

.

i

t

. 

someday,

.

.

s

o

.

.

I

wait . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

.

c

a

n

. 

almost

feel

.

t

h

e

. 

warming

beauty

.

a

n

d

.

grace,

.

.

s

o

.

.

I

wait . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wait

.

f

o

r

. 

something 

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wait

.

f

o

r

. 

something 

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

wait

.

f

o

r

. 

something 

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

so

many

.

s

a

y

.

with

all

.

m

y

.

wait,

.

.

t

h

a

t

.

.

I

. 

w

i

l

l

.

age

.

a

n

d

.

only

.

d

i

e

.

this

way . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

they

.

w

i

l

l

. 

always

find

.

a

.

smile

.

o

n

.

my

face . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

.

.

.

I

.

a

m

.

happy

.

i

n

.

my

days,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

content

.

w

i

t

h

.

my

pace . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

anyway,

.

.

I

.

.

can’t

imagine

.

a

.

better

way

.

t

o

.

leave

.

t

h

i

s

.

place,

–

–

than

with

.

t

h

e

.

glimmering

faith

.

I

.

might

dance

.

w

i

t

h

.

the

grace,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

find

.

i

t

.

someday . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

.

.

.

I 

wait.

Reflection: This was a forgotten inspirational/hope-themed poem that I wrote back in March of 2018 to encourage patience and living with a sense of hope and happiness from one moment to the next.

Tell . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

do

.

n

o

t

.

know,

–

– 

how

.

t

o

.

tell

you . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

.

.

.

I

.

am

.

t

o

o

.

ashamed

.

inside

.

t

h

e

.

shell,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

a

little

.

t

o

o

.

shy

.

a

s

.

well,

.

.

t

o

.

.

break

.

t

h

e

.

silent

spell . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

it’s

easier

.

t

o

.

smile,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

wave,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

wish

.

y

o

u

.

well . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

smile,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

wave,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

wish

.

y

o

u

.

well . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

There

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

dream,

–

–

breathing

next

.

t

o

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

waiting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

.

waiting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

waiting . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

before

.

turning

away

.

a

n

d

.

fading

.

i

n

t

o

.

distance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ it

turned

away

.

a

n

d

.

faded

.

i

n

t

o

.

distance . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

leaving

nothing 

.

b

u

t

.

silence,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

memory

.

o

f

.

what 

might

.

h

a

v

e

. 

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

memory

.

o

f

.

what 

might

.

h

a

v

e

. 

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Linger . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

feelings

linger . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

now

that

.

y

o

u

. 

have

gone . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

they

taunt,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

haunt

.

m

e

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

taunt,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

haunt . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

taunt,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

haunt . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

They

taunt,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

haunt

.

m

e

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

haunt

.

m

e

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ they

haunt

.

m

e

.

more . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

t

h

a

n

–

–

–

anything

before.

Reflection: This was a forgotten romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in January of 2018 where the affected party experiences a heart-wrenching turn of events which, at that point in time, seem too insurmountable for him or her to change. This poem was primarily inspired by the wonderful, moving movie: “Call Me By Your Name.”

I

heard

.

t

h

e

.

words

.

about

.

t

h

e

.

turn,

.

.

e

c

h

o

.

.

across

.

t

h

e

.

universe . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

the

.

n

e

w

.

earth

.

n

o

w

.

looks

like

.

t

h

e

.

old,

.

.

a

s

.

.

better

.

f

a

l

l

s

.

to 

worse . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ as

better

.

f

a

l

l

s

.

to 

worse . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

marching

forward . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

marching

forward . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ marching

forward . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

– 

reverse.

Reflection: This was a forgotten reflection-themed poem that I wrote back in January of 2018. It was primarily inspired by U2’s Bono Rolling Stone interview (January 11-25, 2018 issue of Rolling Stone) where Bono said “the new normal is the old normal” (in terms of the world moving backwards to protectionism, and no longer advancing: Trump, Brexit, the rise of protectionist contenders, political agendas, and such). After reflecting on this interview, I then wrote: “the new world looks like the old world” and this simple poem wrote itself from that.

There

once

.

w

a

s

.

a

time,

–

–

when

.

I

.

thought

.

y

o

u

.

might

.

b

e

.

the

one

.

i

n

.

my

life . . .
–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

later

.

I

.

came

.

t

o

.

realize,

.

.

y

o

u

.

.

were

.

n

o

t

.

the

one . . .
–
–

–

.

.

.

 ~ no,

–

–

not

.

t

h

e

.

one,

–

–

alright . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

b

u

t

–

–

–

the

one

.

w

h

o

.

got

away.

Reflection: This was a fun but simple romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in January of 2018 where the contemplator looks back on a past romance which probably could have turned out to be the best relationship he or she has ever had.

Cryptocurrency . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Cryptocurrency . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

Building

easy

–

–

money

schemes,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

sweet,

–

–

money

dreams

.

.

t

o

.

.

that,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

all,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

every . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ well,

.

i

t

.

seems

.

l

i

k

e

.

a

bubble

.

t

o

.

me . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

seems

.

l

i

k

e

.

a

bubble . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

if

.

i

t

.

comes

crashing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

if

.

i

t

.

comes

thrashing . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

h

o

w

–

–

–

many

.

w

i

l

l

.

still

.

b

e

.

singing

.

a

n

d

.

dancing

.

i

n

.

the

streets ?

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ singing

.

a

n

d

.

dancing

.

i

n

.

the

streets . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

h

e

n

–

–

–

living

a

life . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

eating

crypto

currency

feed,

–

–

beneath

crypto

currency

bedsheets.

Reflection: This was a fun, but simple reflective-themed poem I wrote in December 2017 during the earlier days of the cryptocurrency craze – crypto crashed shortly after I wrote this but recovered almost three years later. Perhaps I should have modified this poem during the meme stock phase and published it then as well. The rhythm of this poem was inspired by John Lennon’s rhythmic verse in “I am the Walrus.” It started out as: “Cryptocurrency, easy money schemes, well it seems like a bubble to me.”

I actually started buying into cryptocurrency once the recovery began via Coinbase (COIN) – because that was the first time I started having some confidence in the fundamental value of a cryptocurrency-oriented company. It’s actually done very well since then.

I

danced

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

smile

.

o

f

.

wine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

desire

.

spied

upon

.

m

y

.

eyes . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

danced

.

a

.

lie . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

danced

.

a

l

l

.

night . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

mile,

–

–

after

mile,

–

–

after

mile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

w

a

s

.

hard

.

t

o

.

know . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

i

n

–

–

–

the

wild

.

a

n

d

.

winding,

–

–

whirling

ride,

–

–

just

where

.

t

h

e

.

night

.

m

i

g

h

t

.

arrive . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

s

o

–

–

–

I

danced

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

danced

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

I

danced

.

u

p

o

n

.

a

smile . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

f

–

–

–

wine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

i

n

–

–

–

those

precious,

–

–

priceless

moments

.

i

n

.

time . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

when

.

I

.

dreamed,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

designed,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

danced

.

a

.

lie . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.
 ~ when

I

.

dreamed,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

designed,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

danced

.

a

.

lie . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

thinking

–

–

somewhere,

–

–

someday,

–

–

somehow,

.

.

o

r

.

.

sometime,
.

.

I

.

.

might

.

f

i

n

d

.

a

way

.

t

o

.

make

.

y

o

u

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ I

might

.

f

i

n

d

.

a

way

.

t

o

.

make

.

y

o

u

.

mine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

f

o

r

–

–

–

longer

than . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ for
longer,

.

.

s

o

.

.

much

longer

.

t

h

a

n

.

those

twenty-nine

.

maddening

moments

.

i

n

.

time.

Reflection: This was a romantic-themed poem that I wrote back in December of 2017 where the romancer looks back on a brief romantic encounter, and wonders what more could have been said or done to create a more lasting romance.