Her Goodbye, Our Adieu
Copyright by F. Ellsworth Lockwood, November 28, 2006
Copyright by F. Ellsworth Lockwood, November 28, 2006
I still hold the flowers I had hoped to send
To the woman, the friend, I had come to adore.
To the woman, the friend, I had come to adore.
What shall I do with this love of mine
When she says I must call no more?
Like a boat at the dock,
Shall I watch her slip?
Just … slip … slip … away,
And hope that she fades from memory?
As if it were just another day.
She keeps disappearing in walks by the beach,
Or swimming away until she’s far out of reach.
I am now becoming a dot on her shore.
Yes. I feel myself floating.
Floating … floating,
Like a log in slow motion.
No rudder, no oar, no map no direction,
With nowhere to go and no place to moor.
Sometimes I turn.
I start rolling in fast, all foaming and bubbling.
But that does no good.
Next thing I know,
I am slowly receding back out to sea,
For though I love her, she does not love me.
Now I mean less to her day by day,
Than the shell she once found
In the sand at the reach.
Looked at briefly, and then tossed away,
No remorse, no regret, just a flip of her hair
At wondrous things that were meant to be?
Ah, once we stood by the ocean-side bare,
There was warmth in our bodies and fire in the air.
But our lips never met.
We just walked away
Not trusting our feelings.
Afraid we strayed.
What shall I do with this love of mine
That never was meant to be?
When looking for lovers,
I at once spied her, and, yes, she too saw me,
But she turned and fled away in a rush,
She could not wait, though I saw her blush.
Perhaps some future, dreary season,
On a detour, dreaded far beyond reason,
Two lost lovers again shall meet,
Shall lift their eyes, with unfeigned delight,
Shall wonder anew with fresh insight.
When through a rift in the skies shall appear,
The Reason, the Wonder, the Compensation.
Forgetting the days of long before,
When we pined alone on some forlorn shore,
We shall embrace, we shall implore,
We shall the heights, the depths, and the shallows explore,
Of our love. And we shall be one
Forevermore.
When she says I must call no more?
Like a boat at the dock,
Shall I watch her slip?
Just … slip … slip … away,
And hope that she fades from memory?
As if it were just another day.
She keeps disappearing in walks by the beach,
Or swimming away until she’s far out of reach.
I am now becoming a dot on her shore.
Yes. I feel myself floating.
Floating … floating,
Like a log in slow motion.
No rudder, no oar, no map no direction,
With nowhere to go and no place to moor.
Sometimes I turn.
I start rolling in fast, all foaming and bubbling.
But that does no good.
Next thing I know,
I am slowly receding back out to sea,
For though I love her, she does not love me.
Now I mean less to her day by day,
Than the shell she once found
In the sand at the reach.
Looked at briefly, and then tossed away,
No remorse, no regret, just a flip of her hair
At wondrous things that were meant to be?
Ah, once we stood by the ocean-side bare,
There was warmth in our bodies and fire in the air.
But our lips never met.
We just walked away
Not trusting our feelings.
Afraid we strayed.
What shall I do with this love of mine
That never was meant to be?
When looking for lovers,
I at once spied her, and, yes, she too saw me,
But she turned and fled away in a rush,
She could not wait, though I saw her blush.
Perhaps some future, dreary season,
On a detour, dreaded far beyond reason,
Two lost lovers again shall meet,
Shall lift their eyes, with unfeigned delight,
Shall wonder anew with fresh insight.
When through a rift in the skies shall appear,
The Reason, the Wonder, the Compensation.
Forgetting the days of long before,
When we pined alone on some forlorn shore,
We shall embrace, we shall implore,
We shall the heights, the depths, and the shallows explore,
Of our love. And we shall be one
Forevermore.
Yes, we waved goodbye as she started to drift ...
But at the time, I never really believed it. Could not comprehend.
Nor think it was the end.
I am older now, and here I stand
Watching again, this time, from a cold, windblown shore.
In my hand no flowers, in my pockets no gold,
Yet I look and I long. And I feel very, very old.
Oh, I have not forgotten.
I still yearn and I wish,
But without so much hope.
My heart murmers.
Just, a soft beat, a humming, not really a song.
And still I wait by the shore, and I think,
Will today be the day? She will wash up again?
Or, if not her, then another?
Only this time, like a bottle with a message,
With fair words from afar?
Words of love?
Oh ocean, oh sea, please bring to me, just one
Sweet bottle of the life that was meant to be.
With resignation, the cliffs will cave in;
The waves will reduce the rocky shores,
Yet I cannot forget the image of love.
Love, the only far country that men can explore,
Worthy the gaze toward a distant shore.
I turn to leave, and there in the sand
A footprint, and here another,
A trail so faint, a path so light,
Yet in the approaching night,
I know it must be true ... that my path must always, ever lead ...
To you, my Love.
To You.
End
Copyright by F. Ellsworth Lockwood, November 28, 2006
#love #unrequitedlove #poem
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