Extemporaneous Poetry
On the subject of Xopher
Hello again.
You called me bright eyes.
What once? Twice?
Nobody calls me bright eyes.
It took me weeks to figure out what I was doing
That YOU saw as "bright eyes".
I tracked down the feeling
That makes my face do "bright eyes".
Perhaps what you see is the same feeling.
No matter.
If it were something we could speak plainly of.
We would have.
----
It's silly to say so,
But thank you for being who you were to me.
Then.
You needed no thanks then or now.
It is who you were.
It is who I was.
I am sentimental.
You are not.
Forgive me if I permit myself
To let what was linger a bit.
Am I savoring it?
Or something else?
Who is a fair judge?
----
Your mind
Continues to facinate me.
As I evolve
My awe of your flexibility fades.
My own flexibility grows now.
At the moment, however,
There remains awe.
I shouldn't mention it,
But you see it even when
I try to hide it.
----
Friend who is distant,
You are a part of me.
Who you are now
Is probably nothing like
Who you were then.
My thoughts, perhaps are
A small burst of noise
Quickly cleaned out of
Busy buffers.
----
The list of things
Each of us could say
That another person
Might not want to hear
Is an uncountable infinity.
But what we learn
From being human
And from experiencing
Our own and other people's
Secret fears is:
Say it anyway.
Saying is not doing.
It lets us have
Our thoughts and feelings
With maybe a little bit less fear.
----
I like you Chris.
You don't need to do anything about it.
But I wanted to say it.
Cheers!
-wdc
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