within

not sure where this came from

 

He forgot the strength held in the soft bosom of superstition,

and Saturdays that became cloudy without promise of

awakening to scrambled eggs

 

and kisses...

 

He became movement in the trees, his entire body

trembling as if she walked over his grave

 

again and again...

 

She was different, and everyone knew magic

was her air...

 

waiting with swollen lips and traces of love

that could have been...

 

Never grounded, thoughts always somewhere

between Now and Never...

 

and Forever...

 

It was always him,

 

her one and only love letter not yet opened...

 

a glistening silver heritage making love to

a silhouette of tears...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Dani California]

"He became movement in the trees, his entire body
trembling as if she walked over his grave
again and again... "

Something about those lines just reached in and gently
ripped my heart out.

Once again, you've made a soft beautiful melody out of sadness,
taking your reader on a blissful tour of heartache. I don't know how
you do it A. I have yet to read another poet who can do that... your
reader still feels the effects of the sad and longing emotions that are
set forth in your work, yet you craft the words in such a way that
we willingly, and knowingly, walk the plank into heartbreak.

That is one of your artistry gifts I think... your poems mesmerize
your reader... somewhat blissfully carry them through it.. regardless
of content.. and then ever so gently... and lovingly... sink them.
(I hope it's understood that I mean that in a good way) :)

This is just beautiful my friend.. as always.

[Mr. Misanthrope]

This poem weaves an intangible shroud of beauty, mystery and magic around the reader, transporting them to another world. You conquer this teleportation perfectly. This is a wonderful poem. The words are just so graceful.

-Luke

[Legion]

Speechless. Wonderfully penned. Am curious though (making sure I understand this), he is physically dead right? She still has him in the air and trees around her as well as in her mind. Well written.

[Poetic Injustice]

I cried tonight reading you ink. I didn't breathe, I didn't think. I got up, shuffled to the sink. But decided not to pour a drink. I sat back down, read it again. Thought about the words I read and then ... tried to wrap it in a bow somehow, I don't know how ...


Good pen.

[A LaDy NaMeD D]

This definantly goes down as one of my favorites. It's beautiful and sad at the same time.

Danni J

[Antony]

Damn! this is so sad, so deep and so heartfelt, your words exquisite and this is one of the best, of all you have written. these lines brought tears to my eyes.
waiting with swollen lips and traces of love
that could have been...
a glistening silver heritage making love to
a silhouette of tears...
Just so beautifully written Apollonia
Tony

[A.J. Smith]

Wow...definitely among my favorite of your poems! Surely, this piece came from some brilliantly creative corner of your mind. I was really moved by your opening stanza, and you didn't let up...all of your poem is awesome. Very strong, poignant finish. Beautiful, romantic, sad...wonderfully, leanly constructed and formatted, with sparing, precisely selected and placed words. Your poem begs to be read aloud. I hope, when you get to the point that you're ready to do the audio files to go with your works, you'll include this poem.

[Mark D. Chevalier]

There is a great deal of artistic prowess in this poem. "Waiting with swollen lips and traces of love that could have been..." I loved that line. To me it speaks of a love where things become mundane, life takes over, and the things that should be special are taken for granted because you began the poem with..."He forgot."
Certainly one should never forget, and be prepared to stoke the fires when they begin to dim over time.
Excellent poetry and so very well said!
Mark

[R J Askew]

You are become big time wistful! 'her one and only love letter never opened' is full of sadness, denial, promise and bliss. It is as if the opening of the letter will destroy the anticipation of love. This fits in with the view that anticipation in such things is all and that fulfilment is the fast land to disillusionment, disappointment and emptiness. Ach, but if it is true and anticipation is all where does that leave any of us?

[Wanda S. Paryla]

Mesmerizing, enchanting. Like a soft feather falling, this poem.

[Angelic Darkness]

This is wonderful...it flow soundlessly, yet I could feel the sadness, the voice
to be heard and comforted. This is a love story of loss. Wonderful job...AD