PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To have love comfortable

as the faded, dried first rose.

Hanging on the wall between pictures.

The worn hall floor from all the dances.

Practiced and perfected, all the movement.

All the scars and trophies, strength and weak

in all honest speaking, I wish for our love of old.

Where chairs are pulled out, doors are opened,

all things done without being told or asked.

When love was a teamwork, two people against the world.

Starlight dinners, first movies, first kisses

all under a spring ripe moon.

Wishful thinking, positive support, and team effort.

Love like a hanging fade rose, first rose captured fifty years ago.

So many years, all broken fixed and all mending done together.

All the scars and trophies, falling and standing

in all of the modern world, it missing love of old.

When the man did things for his lady because he enjoys her smiling.

Giving more than taking from her, balance and perfected dancing between lovers.

Where a man was a gentleman towards his lady, at all times.

Love as comfortable as the first faded rose hanging with aging photographes.