Parting

It never gets easier to say goodbye,

If anything with each parting my

Heart grows more fond—and

The severance claws at my thoughts

With a strength I dare not describe.

Each time it seems our paths divide again

I am left wanting to call out—

To shout out, to do anything

To keep you from disappearing—

Let it be for just one day,

Or even a second, in either case,

I would miss you just the same.

I’ve grown so weary of lying awake,

Listening to the sound of my own

Ever thumping heartbeat—

It seems sleep never comes,

And I think… That’s alright—

Because while I remain conscious

I’m bombarded with a thousand images,

Of your beautiful, beautiful smile.

Every time we part, I wonder,

How it is possible for me to take

My next breath, knowing that

You will not be near.

To this day, I still don't know,

And I'm sure I never will.

Selfish

I could dream a dream, of fairy tale bliss—

Of dragon, of knight, of a princess’s kiss.

Caught in falsehood, that will never wilt

I could walk upon the Eden I have built.

And if I could create the sea and land,

 I would hold the fairest hand—

Oh, but what a selfish dream,

That I dare not ever begin to scheme.

I could pluck the brightest star from the sky—

And keep it so that it may never die…

But what of the travelers blind by night,

Fumbling through the dark, with stolen sight?

I could dream a dream of selfish pride,

Of greed, of envy, of all I hide—

But sleep—a dream—cannot be pure

Beneath a spell, cast without a cure.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Gentle

There is a heart so gentle, that if

Described as a physical sensation,

It would certainly be subtle elation,

So tender it may go without notice—

Like a butterfly among a snowstorm

Or a candle to a starlit form.

This heart encapsulates such kindness

That it makes acts of altruism appear

As gestures of greed by the sincere—

Charity becomes a motion for criminals

And sinners to perpetuate evil ways,

In contrast to the heart I appraise.

If there is a colour that can elucidate

Her soft touch, it is gold, but alas

That shade appears an earthly brass

When held to her heart—leading me

To believe that there is no metaphor,

To describe her…Yes, I’m sure. 
    DannYetman
www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Path

The first time I held her hand was happenstance,

Near where the dandelions grew along the track—

Golden florets of forgotten pastures, in romance,

Amidst the city of voiceless wanderers that swayed,

Silently in the salient evening made.

I outstretched my arm, caught in the contrast

That came from the rocks beneath our feet,

For I must mention now, it was the overcast

And rain that slickened the path we wished to trot—

Even so, in my eyes, the sun was not forgot.

Our fingers neither intertwined nor convoluted

But found satiety when gripped in a gentle gesture

Which made it apparent, my heart was muted.

For a moment my words would not align

Assimilated with emotion I dare not define.

Never has my hand felt more out of place,

A fumbling grasp beneath her finesse—

An earthly entanglement against her grace.

The first time I held her hand left me fervent,

And completely aghast, without intent. 

    DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Night the Rain Never Stopped

Amidst the arbitrary storm that swayed me so deeply

I could not focus my fondness properly, I sat against the gale

And pondered upon the pedantry that has passed and plagued

My heart thoroughly since the day I first heard her speak.

I felt a tear against my cheek—not of joy, not of sorrow

But of the passion I felt, the desire within me that awoke…

That night between the puddles and raindrops—between

The serenity of witnessing her smile and turbulence that

Arose from being soaked—I thought to myself, of the script

That has been wrote—of the stage we walk and words

Shuttered—of the birds that saunter, far from us but near enough

To hear their call—a cheerful applause of loving laudation.

The ache could not have been deeper, the chill within

Set so completely, it became a wedded part of me—

The ache could not have been deeper, the warmth within

My heart which was her creation—a masterpiece of communication. 

The Night the Sun Never Left

Past the salt and pepper shaker and nearer

Than I ever thought you would be—

My gaze falters in your light, the disbelief

Than I’m left with—when you’re a ghost

In my mind, and I walk the halls alone.

My gaze fails me in your light—

The aura of joy and compassion which

Reaches across the table reminds me of all

That is right—you remind me of the ephemeral

Nature of our lives—the delicate breathes

And the partings that we will surely face.

Across from me resides the very definition

Of complete beauty, the stigma of where dreams

And reality entangle—and slow dance gently

To a song we all wish we wrote.

Near me resides the reason my heart

Continues to beat—a delicate smile,

Held briefly, is a reminder of why I wake.

      DannYetman     

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Dream

For one moment, I had life—I lived, I felt, I cried.

My flesh, taut over my cheeks, had color—I pained,

And from the agony came rebirth, joy, and desire.

By the most serendipitous turn of events, you were

There too, in the dream—the single moment of life

In an otherwise statuesque series of heartbeats.

I don’t remember why, but you were smiling…

There in the dream. It didn’t seem to matter,

Because fortune should have it, I was smiling too.

And though when you spoke, it was not English,

We both spoke gibberish, there in the dream,

As such, we seemed to communicate fine.

For some reason I couldn’t understand

The need of yours to pull upon my heartstrings,

Until the illusion was shattered, and I awoke.

My eyes shot open, my fingers clawed the sheets,

Trying to pull back time, regain the memory

Of when we both sat across from the sea,

Staring at the deluded sunset of my cognition.

There was no temporal component to our lives,

The stories we exchanged, are tales to never be.

We both existed as ghosts within

The confines of my twisted dream—

The Eden I whittled, was blown out like the

Last flickering flame we lit, the flame we lit

Within the dream.

         DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Storm

On the eve of the supposed storm,

I stood in line all night, at the store—

And with my gaze, I undressed the roses,

Fickle, thorned—beauty in their deceit.

But then, from amidst the animosity,

One plain orchard stood bold before me.

Petals violet—leaves vast and preened.

As I swayed to solidify my disbelief,

I hesitated and withdrew my reach.

At that moment, I wanted to give

The flower to you, more than I cared

To take my next breath.

I racked my brain, fantasized of stealing

The lissome plant to leave on your step,

So the beauty I saw may have imbued

A sweeping smile across your lips

While you carried it in with you,

And placed it on the ledge nearest the fridge.

But alas, such grace and superfluous behaviour

Is well beyond my capability... So I sit,

Reminded of the orchid that I never gave—

The smile that I did not create.

     DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

In Eden's Footsteps

How I miss the whispers we will never speak,

Through the mirror in the world that does not exist—

You are there, your smile lights the path

Of a thousand wandering ships.

Serendipity follows like a lost puppy,

Biting at your heels with every step you take.

And in that world the lonely son's soliloquies

Do not go unheard, for you are there to listen—

But through the mirror, to the world we live,

My voice goes mute as if I choose not to converse.

A thousand nights for a thousand ships, each goes by,

As I take for granted the one character

Who smiles when our eyes meet and who isn't

Just another placeholder I write to take up space.

But I thought you deserve to know,

I tremble silently in the dark when you're no longer near—

Happiness squandered just to live a life apart,

The saddest sight I have ever seen—through the mirror—

In Eden's footsteps, leading your fleet of ships.

    DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

Unspoken

Unspoken 

You catch me trembling, see the fear as I look right though you—

Somehow you understand each thought precisely

Even though my lips stay pressed… Through my eyes you read me.

I think you’re the only one, who can see the terror so clearly—

You’re the only one who listens to my silent thoughts.

In ominous reluctance we converse, not a word heard,

But meaning conveyed with clarity and precision.

And I, with my imperfect stutter evoked by nervousness,

Look back at you with daunting glances—

Unwillingly to let you see the tapered heart within.

The voice which only seconds ago I could use with ease

Now seems a foreign entity as I lose control…

But you understand my silence—the pauses

Which carry more meaning than the words between—

The subtle nods and smiles between heartbeats.

And as you stand and begin to walk by me,

Our shoulders brush so gently it seems a dream—

Maybe you feel the slight shutter next to you

Or perhaps you don’t…

But I think you would understand the endless nights,

The long walks to shake the creeping ghosts—

The nights where I can’t look at myself let alone you;

My eyes tremble, as I fade away,

Unspoken.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

The Blind Man

None of this has been said before,

I have never whispered words of caring—

Provided insight of how important you are.

I have never told you how unique you are,

How the good you do has touched my heart.

This is me, trying not to be selfish

Shyly stumbling on the words to tell you

That I’m glad you are a part of my life.

And sometime between now and when we first met

It occurred to me I might not survive

Without you.

The smiles we have shared make life worth living,

Each laugh feeling right, having purpose.

Even a blind man could see

What you mean to me—

For you gave me the gift of happiness,

And for that, I thank you.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com