what am I to you
whom do you see
We living on the outskirts of reality
yet uncomfortably existing within the confines
of our anonymity
in this the autumn of our lives
our Septembers have become unseasonably warm
people mindlessly enjoying the day
while we anticipate the coming evening storm
and as the first raindrops fall upon the grotto
staining the tiles
from our shared destiny we shall remiain
for voluntarily we choose to abstain
while ensconsed within the secrets of a smile
What does she mean to me
who is he
milling impatiently about
on your periphery
people accepting friendship zones
and the erogenous moans
of seductive tome
in place of seeking love's true destiny
so many
never find only seek
an introspective peek
only to discover falling leaves as October looms
the whippoorwill singing in perfect harmony
with the sweeping sounds of brooms
only to very soon
face an approaching winter of discontent
alone with time misspent
admiring our profiles
while we live in consternation within
the secrets of our smile
Can our love hope to withstand
a voluntary mutiny
to save yourself will you plead
to a temporary insanity
who are we
to try when most have failed
staring into the stained glass portals
of our inebriated minds while
the northern winds in October skies croon
a whiter shade of pale
skipping the fading light fandango
eating an out of season mango
while replaying the lowlights
contained withing our conversations
waiting for a night visitation
that never comes
tell me
what parts
of our hearts do we use
in this the autumn of our lives
is there any purity of emotion that has not been abused
the painful memory of past failed romance
we file
accepting the feelings of emptiness
that only bear witness
to living within the secrets of our smile
Can you withstand
my unfounded scrutiny
while the pinpricks of your diatribe
remain so tiny you cannot see
the pain I endure
to secure
our reservation for November's blessings
are we regressing
into a doubtful embrace
I admiring your contours
you ignoring the pain you've painted upon my face
a portrait of lost seasons
thus the reason
most who try fail
for ultimately
we are impaled
upon the cross of our insecurities
tell me
what am I to you
whom do you see
it is now Decemberr
and as the snow begins to fall
it obliterates the steps we have taken
and most importantly the upcoming miles
we must walk
to emerge as one from the secrets of our smile
Inspired by the Candace and Midnite Show's various topics.
thank you Ladies..respect and admiration.

All Poetry by D.Greaves/Darwin Greaves by D.Greaves-Darwin Greaves is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at dgreaves.posterous.com.
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