PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Weaving through the juniper on my way to your house,

Making my way by light of Saturn amidst constellations,

From my front yard I think I can almost make out a mouse.

I was young when I first jumped in my car and headed down.

Now I'm nearly middle aged and the dream doesn't die.

You have thick curls, scented ribbons, and lilacs, and gowns,

And I have a dream compass that takes me to flight.

Pieces of youth trail me all the way down to the shore
But that's not where you are.  I get out of my car,

And turn for the woods and up a trail to see

 Fireflys make a city of snapping electricity.

It's summer and it's warm, and I think I lost my keys,

But that hardly bothers me because you're heaven to me.

You're heaven to me.

There's a dirt bike in a ditch, and I hit a suburban lot.

I ride in figure eights passed granmother's plot.

I hurry passed the middle school where juveniles scrawl graffiti.

I yell at the little kids who think they're being sneaky.

Then I stop at a tree, grab my knife, draw a heart and write names

Just in case you want to see it, or rendezvous there all the same.

It's old Mcallister's field where they hold the county fair.

I once took a piece of straw and held it in my teeth one year.

I was an American prince just waiting to hear

Those words you hear in movies and top 40 tracks.

I was perfect, save the small scar on my back.

Football Friday nights faded.  Grey hairs replaced acne.

But that hardly bothers me anymore because you're heaven to me.

You're heaven to me.

In town "Old Crow" is picking something fierce.

Long beards around here don't make you lonesome or weird.

A little rum, or maybe whiskey pepper the drinks at the bars

Which spill out onto the sidewalk under the crisp evening stars.

I'm sober as the morning, so I jump back in my car

And head back down the road to your three story estate.

The harvest moon is low.  The waves caress my thoughts.

It's not the first time I've journeyed for what can't be bought.

Some may say dreams are empty, but life's in the passage.

I must be a child for thinking so long and hard about your visage.

Even so, I don't mind it much, nor the late moonlit sea.

It ebbs and flows with its currents.  You're a vision to squeeze.

No, it hardly bothers me anymore because you're heaven to me.

You're heaven to me.