CELEBRATION OF A LOVE SUCH AS THIS

He stood on the front porch with morning as a new promise.
The mist of dew’s bated breath hung above the grass
as sips of his molten brew stimulated his heart.

This was the part that took the most out of him,
for he knew the feeling that was still asleep
and could not be awakened or aroused easily.

Looking out, he saw the tendrils of light lifting
over the distant ridge, a bridge between dreams
and heartbreak – and he aches a little with each

rise of his chest. He was a mess, and he knew it.
If he could eschew these thoughts he would,
but he also knew it would do no good.

The brilliance of the emerging sun possessed him
as much as her bright light held his passion.
It would keep from crashing down around him

and the memory of her flame fortified
the fire that burned warmly in his heart.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The birds too were awakening, and there was no mistaking
their song. It was a strong prelude on this multi-hued
morn. It was born of love and hope, and he could cope

with whatever the day wrought. It ought to be good.
He would sip again and savor the flavor of lips
once pressed against this same cup, an interruption

most welcomed and desired. Again it stoked the fire.
A deep breath filled his lungs and he held it in,
recalling the scent of her as the same fresh

and exhilarating sniff. It was as if she was standing there
against his scarred shoulder, drawing her strength
from his worn and tired physique. But his psyche

needed mending because it was sending these signals
of glad sadness. An unbalanced madness festered
in love and disdain, an old refrain they had reconciled

years earlier. And in it, he just got more assured.
It was pure, these feelings, melancholy as they were,
for it was her who had saved him. It was her whim that

resurrected him; it protected him in ways he thought
no one ever could or would, but she did.
She hid it well, much the same as the rabbits that pocked

the field across the way when they came out to play.
Their furry tenderness blended in well to stave off this hell
that festered and pestered his heart. She loved their

timidity and guarded adventurism, they explored
the way her heart had searched for its mate.
Guarded and tentative, a preventative to heartache

and breakage. She had staked everything by offering
her smiles and womanly wiles to his dark and brooding
moods. She became the sunshine that bathed his face

and lifted his spirits, and her voice as he’d hear it
in the trill of the sparrows at play. It was their Anniversary day. A day when distant hearts are perfected

and reflect on lasting connections offered in breaths and sighs,
sunlit skies. Birds heard in the songs that lived within.
That silly grin when the bunnies leaped and danced,

and she had pranced through his life unabashed
and confident. She knew what it meant to be loved.
Cup nearly drained and a faint sound approaching

encroaching on this solitude, but not intruding.
He heard the door’s creaking yawn and his eyes were drawn
to the vision that graced him. Her face was angelic,

her blonde hair thick and disheveled; a devilish look in her eye.
She offered another shot from the bottom of the pot;
a new cup with a bright red heart right below where

his lips kissed. In the morning mist they were complete.
She had re-awakened to his new day. He had nothing left to say
but a deep “good morning” and he watched her yawning arms

stretch to hug the world. His girl never strayed. She stayed.
Reminders notwithstanding, she had been quietly demanding
his attention, not to mention his love, for above all else, he did.

He loved her more each day.
And today was their Anniversary day!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day 26: “Love Poem”

MORNING HAS BROKEN

The light of day remains asleep as I am roused from slumber.
Another day beckons; beacons of light first emerge to greet me.
Morning begins on cautious feet, a new dance to the dawn.

Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

WE WRITE POEMS – PROMPT #151 – First Morning Revelations

HEROES AND THIEVES

The sun had arisen, a beacon offering illumination;giving shadows and then taking them away. A day like any other. Mothers preparing the children for school, before they head to work. Fathers making their commute to execute the completion of another day of living the American dream. It seemed a perfect day to stay that course. Of course, dreams can morph into nightmares that destroy, and every man, woman, girl and boy still strive to awaken from the promise so taken; shaken to our core and what’s more, feeling confused and abused, hated and welling with the same. But, not for long. The strong urge to strike was replaced by the urgent need to care and rescue; to eschew the lowly who strike like thieves in the night. The fight continues to remember the fallen, those called to serve and protect from this sect of humanity bathed in the blood of insanity.

The phoenix rises.
From the ash and dust it flies
upon eagles wings.

 

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

BELLA MIA

I see you in the morning mist, a vision;
my tired eyes welcome it. And your gown flows
in a gentle cascade, my only mission
is to take you up into my arms and show
you all that my love can teach you; a lesson
your mind will learn, but your heart already knows.
In close silhouette, your beauty is revealed.
My longing for you cannot be concealed.

…AND THE FLAG WAS STILL THERE

A principle was attacked amidst
tears and destruction; a surreal snapshot
of a day worth forgetting. But no one did.
How do you forget the sight; the sound?
How do you forget the faces; the screams?
How do you diminish the sacrifice?
The word ‘impossible’ was tailor made
for this moment in time. Despair and
disbelief would be usurped by anger
and determination to not allow those who
put it all on the line, go quietly into that good night.
It became a fight to rise each day to face
the insurmountable task one brick at a time.
As many bricks as there were tears shed.
As many shards of glass as there were screams
of torment and terror. But the greatest error
made by a faceless ideology was assuming
we were broken and defeated. But the foresight
of three brothers of the fraternity most depleted
showed we were not defeated. Through the rubble
it stood in defiance. A naked flagpole planted
among the girders and debris. A symbol; our banner
raised high. A declaration loud and clear.
We are still here. We will not go gently.
Together we stand, a shield for liberty.
You took your shot and failed. An American Tale…
and the flag was still there! America had been blessed.

MORNING MISTS REMIND ME

 
The sun, not yet awake;
me, slightly more as I sit sipping.
Another morning begins like every other.
Dark. Silent. Lacking motivation, 
a sensation I share this early. 
Dressing for the job, just another slob 
in a nine-to-five hole; my soul
sold long ago for an escape from seclusion. 
The illusion of this dawning comes
with no warning necessary. 
I tarry a moment longer, bracing 
for the moment for which my heart longs. 
It is strong, this urging; this poetic purging 
of thoughts buried deep within. It is a sin
that I need reminding. But before 
the blinding sun peeks above the horizon, 
my eyes see through the morning mist.
And I think of you. In the shadows of the trees,
a silhouette lives and lingers. Fingers outstretched 
and reaching; beseeching me to return.
I yearn for these moments, long buried,
as are you. Moist and enveloping, developing
contact with every inch of skin exposed.
I am deposed and rendered immobile.
Your eyes, tear filled and vacant, had pierced me,
pleading for a last longing look before death
took your love and replaced it with 
these thoughts and memories. Your eyes,
moist and enveloping, drench my spirit
and I hear it in the rustling wind
running its cool fingers through these branches.
It enhances my morning. The sun begins to illuminate
and I wait for it to show its face.
There is a trace of you in it as well.
I can tell by the smile it brings me.
It stings me sweetly, completely
filling my day with the beauty it espouses.
It houses these feelings that languish within morning mists. 
And so I am reminded. Morning mists remind me of you.