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Lie For You

by Kate Demeree

I am but a tiny spark of your imagination
Something you dredged up in the night
While you laid warm on the sheets
It is not drink cooled lips caressing your skin
But the wind which blows damply sweet through open panes
I would not dare

It is not my hand on you that you feel
It is not my scent that fills your head
Your heart, your memory
But a whiff of something you smelled
Long ago, in a dream

I am not real, but a sham
A cloak you placed over your inner self
When the pain became too great

I do not kiss you, hold you,
Mold my body to yours
Giving and taking
Nor is that a moan you hear
The sound in your ear is
A tree bent double before
The storm wind

Do not doubt my denial
Of love unwanted
The counter tempo you feel
Against your chest is not
The beat of my breast
But the fluttering wings
Of a firefly briefly settling there

When the light in your eyes
Wakes you, removing all traces
Of the night, I will not be beside you
There will only be an empty space
In that place you reach out to

Tomorrow's bright light
Will give credence to my denial
And once again I'll
Lie for you
Calling you "Friend"

05/10/2004

Author's Note: I woke smiling, and not for the first morning this spring *smile*. I have been mucking around with this for a bit, and decided before it found it's way to the trash along with around 200 of it's companions (which never saw a posting) I would post it.

Posted on 05/10/2004
Copyright © 2024 Kate Demeree

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Charles E Minshall on 05/10/04 at 06:09 PM

Very good Katie. Dreams can be wonderful and also be sad....Charlie

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/13/04 at 06:15 PM

Ouch! This is really sad, like good-bye forever, and in this, very well expressed. Glad you rescued it from the trash, but tomorrow's another day. :o(

Posted by Maureen Glaude on 05/14/04 at 06:48 PM

superb, one of the best I've read lately if not the best. So haunting and believable.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 05/20/04 at 11:14 AM

unfortunately for those who create, with the creation comes self doubt, like calories come with the food, and just as those calories don't make the food taste bad, self doubt doesn't make the poem taste anything but what it is, sweet and accomplished.

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