by Richard Vince
Autumn is usually more beautiful
In songs than in life, but that one
Was filled with breathtaking colours
And an open fire sort of warmth
Whenever our fingers stole a
Secret moment to interlock.
Somehow the autumns since then
In which everything happened
Have been less memorable than
The one where nothing ever quite did...
All those silly ideas I had
About running away with you
That somehow didn't seem so
Ridiculous at the time
Now bring a smile to my face
Like you did when you slipped
Your hand surreptitiously into mine.
Even though I knew you could
Never be mine, the glow you brought
To my soul and the song
You sparked in my heart meant
That I would have been yours, if
I had ever been the one you wanted.
Now of course I realise that
You made the right choice
For both of us, and I can look back
On those moments of almost madness
With a wry smile, and recall
All those kisses that never quite
Made the jump from my dreams
To our reality...
That was the leap that we could
Never quite have finished while
We weighed one another down
With our immaturities and our
And somewhere after that realisation,
You became a dozen words
Every few months, a grainy
Old photograph, and the vividly
Remembered feeling of two hands,
Differently made, yet somehow
Posted on 01/16/2004
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Amy Niggel on 01/16/04 at 09:49 PM|
*sigh* can I hold hands with you? This was absolutely beautiful, thank you for such a wonderful poem.
|Posted by Beth K Hannah on 01/17/04 at 03:22 AM|
what a lovely reflection.
|Posted by Leandra K Brossard on 01/17/04 at 05:49 AM|
I love the romance you portray, even in it's simple and sometimes incompleted whims.. It gives it much greater presence for that honesty.. Thank you..
|Posted by Laura Doom on 02/19/07 at 12:31 AM|
Yes - perfectly captured (or rather, not :) Second stanza/verse is, for me, quietly brilliant - the rest merely wonderful.
And the title - infuses me with memories also...'it started with a chat', and various other past-lives.
You have a plethora of poetry in your library Vince!