The Jen Jude Years...

While your guitar gently makes me weep

Back propped against the armrest,
Your axe carefully cradled in your arms,
I wish I could rest against your chest,
And make music under your charms.
Positioned to be your most alluring,
And yet this was not your intent,
I dont think there is any curing,
My belief that for you I was meant.
You alone can drive me to express,
Opinions that are not my own,
With your tremulous touch of tress,
Which waters ideas already well-grown.
I dont think you appreciate how,
Your slightest slyest action,
Causes sweat upon my brow,
And my love to hope for a reaction.
So now I write with my mind racing,
While you silently sleep unconcerned,
That I seem doomed to chasing,
A love that will never be returned.

Dreams

I have seen the firelight,
Illuminate your brow,
Happen as it might,
It is but a dream for now.
I have been woken from my sleep,
By the touch of your flaxen hair,
To find my slumber deep,
Was disturbed by the sun's glare.
I have pledged my love for you,
And received the same in kind,
And while the first is true,
The latter is only in my mind.
I have spent a full life with you my love,
Satisfied only when we were together,
But for now this is a dream like all the above,
Which come what may I will dream forever.

The White wave

Draped in mist I could not see,
The full extent of that dark deep,
Which I had read could set me free,
Or till my death make me weep.
I wondered whether I should flee,
Or into those whirling waters leap.

As I used the scales in my head,
A white wave laid me out with a smack,
And made for me the decision dread,
As it tossed me into the waters black.
It ceased to matter if I should have fled,
Because now there was no way to go back.

The wave had not meant to carry me at all,
And as soon as that body realised I rode,
Upon its fluid form it let me fall,
For it did not wish to carry such a load.
I can never forget how I stood tall,
And all the new views that this had showed.

There are other waves which I could ride,
To try and recapture that fleeting feeling,
But to do this I would have to hide,
That I did not find them as appealing.
For it is that white wave for which I've cried,
And whose wounds my body is still healing.