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Amanda L. Jones

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Member Since: Aug, 2009

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summer '99
by Amanda L. Jones

Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Amanda L. Jones
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           >> View all 17

A cliche` love poem mixed with a little mysterious "horror", if you will. In short, it is about a summer romance.
The first seven stanzas of this poem are placid, the first FOUR bleeding with pure sweetness, but as the poem continues, you can grasp a sense of uneasy change. Time repeating itself.

That night the rain began to pour
on a young couple,
a quiet, carefree pair.
There was no love affair, no three-act drama,
only the care of a pair who had done nothing wrong.

She pulled him to cover
beneath a quiet, lumber giant, and let loose
a giggle
unrivaled, that proved infectious to his jubilant heart.

The air was Louisiana thick, the weather sour,
still he held her close, in his arms, at this yawning hour.
The sweet musk of twilight fell upon them,
like morning dew upon the grass,
and their soft breathing and whispered murmurs
were the only things to hear at last.

She smiled at him, and him at her,
as she swept the rain from his brow.
'I love you,'
he said.

'I loved you then,
I've loved you since,
and I love you now.'

That rushed Summer feeling swept over her then;
this time with her Only would last only just
to be crushed at the beginning of Fall.
A delicate hand caressed his cheek,
as the storm drummed on,
and she kissed him
with all that was left and pure in this fight.

The fight against time,
a fight against place.
Two carefree lovers lean upon each other
for the strength they have not.

'Summer will last,' he spoke,
warm and loyal.
'May it never end.
God may very well strike me for saying it,
but it is you I will keep
as close to my soul as my heartbeat.
You, the one I love,
beyond limit and compare.'

They stay this way,
a frozen picture frame of fragile care,
for the length of two more months, before the calling of each,
broken and bent, drag them home.
Fall waits for no man;
it waits for no woman;
it waits for no beast, not dove,
and for no sweet summer love.

Time passes, however stagnant and still,
until that generation is gone.
Another takes its place.
One more pair stands together there on a hot, rainy night,
clinging to each other
and the hope that Fall just might



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