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Dear Friend
by
andrea peters
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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Dear friend
I received the note you wrote
To me
The other day.
The words have rummaged through my mind.
Bouncing like pinball’s,
Hunting for segue’s, from which to grasp an escape,
Even though I tell myself, that may be unattainable.
“Dear friend”. The ominous sounds of platonicacy
Which is not something of itself to be discarded.
“Dear friend”.
What words so eloquently to say ‘goodbye’ and ‘hello’.
Though the words shouted to me,
"Clouds have formed. A storm stirs."
I must acknowledge what you bared in your note
That you wrote,
To me.
The other day.
Yes. A connection exists. I felt it as soon as we met.
Like a drifting silk thread that touched me
It drifted across my consciousness
And made me aware of it’s presence.
Then lingered slightly behind the recesses of my mind.
But yes. I felt it.
It is not illicit or untoward.
Not sinful nor mysterious.
It is just there.
Innocent by nature.
Unassuming…..unless abused.
I’m unsure if you comprehend how precious that is.
That nexus that happens between two persons.
The immediacy of knowledge that there is a bond,
Though few the words spoken.
Unseen,
But as real as the soft touch of lips on the back of a hand.
I understand that you see it as danger
I hear your words “Stop”.
I also ‘watch’ your lips as your voice slightly trembles.
I perceive the hesitancy in your ‘eyes’.
I hear your words. “Stop”.
I must be honest that to me it feels as if,
Convicted of a future crime, without a chance to defend myself
My motives (perhaps) called into question. My heart.
I am not allowed to speak.
To debate.
And yet I cannot feel anger.
With you.
For I contemplate that you see me as a peril,
Of possibilities.
Which peculiarly soothes the pain.
Somewhat.
And so I will endeavor to entomb our bond,
In the disturbed ground of my heart,
Amid small pebbles and stones that resist my efforts to dig too deeply,
To place within it something lost.
Strange.
Something lost.
Yet something that I never had.
I shall cover it over with duties and schedules,
Toys and wanderings.
Writings and music and songs.
And perhaps one day I will find a delicate wild flower growing out of the broken dirt from whence we lay.
Or perhaps I shall come upon it and find nothing at all.
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| Reviewed by Amira van Kerk |
9/29/2005 |
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Excellent write.
Very well done. Enjoyed reading.
Amira |
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| Reviewed by Gwendolyn Thomas Gath |
5/14/2004 |
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"Dear Friend"
A sweet, innocent rendering of a heart.
Sensational write and made an incredibly beautiful read!
Gwendolyn |
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| Reviewed by Trixie Love |
4/16/2004 |
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Thanks for sharing
this great write...
Trixie :) |
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| Reviewed by Ericka B (Reader) |
4/15/2004 |
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| excelled at pulling me into its depths. |
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| Reviewed by Jennifer Butler |
4/15/2004 |
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| This is a very thoughtful poem, honest and graceful, expressing the true emotions well. |
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