Lie For You by Kate DemereeI 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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