VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time ]


[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 15:15:06 11/30/99 Tue
Author: Jean
Author Host/IP: sktnsk01d051701210.sk.sympatico.ca / 142.165.122.210
Subject: Treasured Music
In reply to: lindsay 's message, "Old Men Who Won't Dance" on 23:33:17 11/29/99 Mon

> She cries in hushes for the man she loves,
> dries her tears for the man she once knew.
>
> Painting kiss & tell portraits, strain lays
> its harsh strokes, creating lines of yearning
> which will never enhance her face.
>
> “I’m sorry…I’m just tired,”
> and she speaks softly of chafing,
> of weary suppers, and lonely hours
> with a man who never smiles.
>
> But he shares his knowledge—
> when she wants it,
>
> and gives her space—
> when she needs it.
>
> He has become a comfortable
> gift in battered packaging,
> even if he won’t dance.



Treasured Music

Sometimes life moves too quickly
and the music that moved the body, made the heart pound
rythmically, is hushed by the sound of years chafing
against dry flesh. Every year crashes
to the ground like another dropped cymbal.

Even the portraits have lost their tone, the lines
no longer certain, pale and fold into themselves, like love songs
winding down.

"I'm sorry.... I'm just tired"
and he dreams silently
of candlelit dinners, and blissful hours
with a woman who would dance for him.

But she will ask him to dance--
when again he desires it

and allows him her company--
when he needs it,

so he offers her the gift
of a battered package
holding a treasure of ancient music.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]


Replies:


Post a message:
This forum requires an account to post.
[ Create Account ]
[ Login ]
[ Contact Forum Admin ]


Forum timezone: GMT-8
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.