PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She was up to her knees in predecessor dust
and lifting her discoveries to sizzle in the sun.
The ancient air mystique, Albania or Greece;
she'd never muddle anywhere and revel in the heat.
She'd designate a tool for use exclusive to the east
and resonate with pride as she unveiled her buried feast;
never lackadaisical nor often indiscreet,
the beauty that preceded her would make you act so sweet.
She'd bathe herself in artifacts and knowledge from the dirt,
useless to the world at large while enveloped in the Earth.
From the air she'd take a hand and bring it close to heart
but set it off to passive trend as composure comes apart.
Yet for this girl I've fallen hard and shattered both my knees
but stand I will and walk to her while screaming agony.
Maybe then she'll rinse her sleeves and help me to my car
and slump me in the driver's seat and hold me in her arms.
Maybe she could feel me then, how solid I've become,
and realize that I am he who is good enough to love.