Ice upon The Road

This is what it feels like to miss your chance,
To keep hope wrapped in arms, like a newborn child--
Protect yourself from all your desires,
For the people who you hold closest
Will be the ones to tear you apart.
This is what it feels like to have no honour,
A walking ghost on the streets of days past.
Death via happiness haunts your soul,
Lips curled in a grin, the cause of your turmoil--
The ice upon the road.
      DannYetnan
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

Never Try, Never Fail

I'm captivated with your kindness,

And your innate desire to do good,

Where I am so much your opposite,

Looking out for myself only—

Not evil, but not far off.

Some days I feel you would give your heart

If I just asked, a lung—or both—if I so desired.

You are the acme of my wasted efforts,

The face of my deepest sorrow.

I can see sadness has touched your lips,

The lips I see even when I sleep—

And I wish I was exaggerating

But I often wake forgetting you're not here

Just because I wouldn't let you speak.

As your words, with touches of grief,

Carry to my ears I watched your smile

Disappear from you darling face—

Turning away beneath his arm.

We live a world where you must always leave,

And my ego keeps me blind

Forevermore.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com