truth – Page 2 – three good words

funny, this expectation
this surprise.

why on earth
what made you think
you were the first one?

that you to me
are the first speaker
and i the first listener
in this little-large world of ours?

there have been others, you know
we each have lived our own lives
before this sudden together

there are histories to consider
moments watching
hours witnessing another
fudge and shift
and squirm in their seat
piling up half-truths, barefacedly
until they amounted to lies.

so, why this surprise?
why this annoyance, frustration
this sudden sulking at my silence
my lack of faith
in the words spoken
in these first creation days
of you and me and us?

why the accusation of reflex scrutiny
born of sentences heard
turned over once, twice
and, too often, found wanting?

i ask only for patience
while i practice mine
until you calm down
and find your way to words
that make sense
speaking of the you
you are
when you’ve brushed your teeth
and are bound for bed.

i ask only for ‘this was this
and that was that’
no maybe, could be, might have been, possibly
no ‘i didn’t know how to tell you
i didn’t know what to say’
speak, yes
explain, articulate
but truthfully
this is no virtual space
no hip little place
no bar, no party
no office, café

this is me
with you
in a first together
and what else is needed
than those words that speak of you
as you
living, being?

they are the ones worthy
to be listened to
answered
spoken.
© 2015 threegoodwords

pen 3

…yours ever, &c
an abrupt ending
opening words
pouring out in a sudden wave –
what madness is this?
to deny, to refuse
to insist on such needless things
as countenance, propriety
We must know our place…
but what is that
in the face of something so divine
as genuine, true, complete feeling?
they may be young, yes,
but not, to his mind, daft beyond decree
there was truth in this
and beauty beyond what any mortal could reach.

quick, quick
cut paper on surface
pen scratching ink
curves, loops, dashes
written in haste
soaked with feeling
demands, pleas
hoping, not jesting
trying to appease
papers waxed closed
an address written, posted
there, there
it is done
it is written
she must understand
the truth, the beauty
of such spontaneous overflow of feeling.

yet the torment begins
the second the envelope is sealed, posted
that torturous patience
of long hours waiting
for all to be read, understood
and hopefully, hopefully
answered, agreed
to continue the private, silent communication
where all the tools given are ink, paper
memory, imagination
and far too much feeling recollected in tranquility.

and thus it arrives
the letter
hastily opened, outside, far
hidden away from the curious
the nosy
young feet walking
young hands turning pages, paper
touched by others, close, known
young eyes reading, re-reading
reading once more
You must… You cannot…
half daze, half delirium, all delight
searching in every word
all the fields of meaning
until a call demands obedience
there are duties, all and one,
that must be followed.

and there it is, a clock chimes
it is time to visit
the one to whom communication
is deemed legitimate
not, in fact, the other
whose words lay pressed lightly
tightly against the young breast.

but no, alas
no one stands waiting
there is no need to play the proper lady
there is time yet to sit in plush seats, reading
what none must know
those felt words written
mapping what lies only
between a you, a me,
and countless yours ever, &c
that most intimate of privacy
daring thoughts, heartfelt feelings
quiet wishes, hidden dreams

I can… I will… I must…
hand-written
as if spoken from mouth to ear
now held and seen, repeated
in most natural light
falling through windows, glowing in trees
until the sun sets to darkness
brightened by the warmth of a flame

a night, a silence
filled with hope for the morrow
heartbeats young, doubting, certain
waiting with joy and fear
mixed to one sensation
true, beautiful, free.