BelieveA Poem by Confuser
Believe
I was an explorer, looking for love, Searching for something, I didn’t understand, A feeling of security, sanctity, to be desired and accepted, When I turned around, there she stood. She had shiny beads, sewn on her old jeans, Soft lips, and a strong jaw, Long dark hair dangling down to her waist. A timeless sweet familiar grace surrounded her face. She was raised in a small town near the Tennessee Mountains, She is Southern wise and Southern free, and the prettiest girl I’ve even seen, When she rolled her bright blue eyes up to the sky, And she laughed out loud, I wanted to cry instead a only a mournful sigh, I want to be deep inside her eyes, To greet that feeling of happiness again. Hold it tightly, and never say goodbye. All around me, I see and feel the unforeseen snow falling, But all I do is gaze upon the long legged girl in front of me. You should have seen her. Did you see her? On a sidewalk, in a small town, people are rushing here & fro To be saved from the wetness of the snow and the icy cold winds blowing faster. I found it funny, even strange, she doesn’t seem to notice them at all. But she is staring directly at me, pulling me inside those ash eyes. I don’t even know her name, but she is making me feel alive. She just smiled and stood up, so tall, Began to play her banjo, singing softly A Cajun melody, And I’m mesmerized. Could this be the love, the haven, I’ve been searching for, Or is this a mirage, a beautiful disguise? She sang, in a whisper, soft and low. Mister, do you believe in heaven and can you show me which way to go? I’ve been lost and longing, for a place in time, When life was carefree, No worries on my mind. Mister, where have you been Have you cast away your sins, Do you have any faith at all Will you be my friend? The truth is just beyond the door, And you will be forever free, Do you have the special key? When the time is right, you will see. But at that moment I remembered, the granting of our wishes, Like the true love we all desire, Is not like a flowers bloom, It does not stay with us, It may burn like a blazing fire, But will dissipate like the daylight, And we may forget about the truth. I began to remember her song about the key. The door is unseen, hidden until the key is presented. It has been shaped by our history. Even the most minute sway of our thoughts and choices changes the chambers, like a safe. Each is unique and when the watcher of our time, rings the bell we can only hear, Our key is ready and we will see the door and know, Behind it lies the answer to everything we will ever need or desire. Some keys are shiny, like the beads on her jeans, twinkling, from the streetlamps above. But some are matted, worn and dull. Her song is playing a changing melody. She sings, Mister, look in the mirror and tell me what you see. So I looked, but the reflection was in the mirror of my yesterdays. Maybe all this is recognizable because I’ve opened that door before; maybe many times. And the pains of my yesterdays, Reminded me of my youth. And I feel that strange hollow empty feeling again, But know I’ll be okay, It’s as if she has always been with me. I guess I’ve always been searching For the right key, the melody, For the one true love meant for me. I hear the bells ringing and the door magically appears, but I know I must be courageous to enter and show no fear, And in an instance I realize, to love, to truly love, Is the scariest, most petrifying experience. That has been my quest. Just thinking of the loss of the ability to love is so inexplicably horrible. But the door opens when we are ready, even if we don’t think we are mature enough, lived and experienced a true gauge of sorrow and pain. In a small amount of time, she has picked me up like a phoenix out the ashes of my self-pity and pain. I’m smiling, excited, grateful and hopeful as I insert the key and turn it. There she stands in my doorway. She begin to speak in that surly Cajun accent and said: There’s a crack in the mountain, And it is covered up with snow, but if I look below it, Great words of wisdom are written on the stones. She said the words are forever changing. Written exclusively for me, an experience undertaken by many. And the words can be so sorrowful, people can go insane. For the words tell a person who they really are. It comes from the part of our spirit, our soul we hide, Even from ourselves. I trust her and she holds my hand and we walk toward The mountain, through the icy gaps, footsteps behind us in the snow, We reach the destination. My hand lets go and I breath in the cold air and reach down. The stone is feather light and easily finds my hand. The words look scrambled, but then I clearly see the ancient letters lining up for me. Have faith. A miracle is created when there is a righteous belief in anything at all. You are the miracle. And I knew, It doesn’t have to be a religious belief, It‘s simply love for everyone or someone, like her. I believe, do you? © 2014 ConfuserAuthor's Note
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Added on November 3, 2014Last Updated on December 14, 2014 Tags: faith, adventure, remembering, love, regret, life, compassion AuthorConfuserManning, SCAboutHappily married with three wonderful children. The first poem I attempted was Paper Heart which I submitted here last year. People here have been so kind and encouraging! Their feedback and reading t.. more..Writing
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