by R.W. Dean
At the end of it,
Just one brief, lonely journey,
With no hand to hold,
Steadfastly into the light,
And all the shadows are gone.
All the memories,
All the loves that never were,
The hopes built on dreams,
Fading into that moment,
That comes at the end of it.
by R.W. Dean
Watching water flow
Quietly among the reeds,
Hearing its music;
I know my presence could not
Improve this perfect beauty.
by R.W. Dean
Like the rain, falling
Upon the stones in my path,
Making them sparkle
As if they were jewels,
Your laughter makes life brighter.
Like the lily’s scent,
Floating through mountain valleys
And my memory,
Your love comes into my soul,
And fills my world with beauty.
You are the blanket
That wraps around my shoulders
When the night chill comes,
And the kiss upon my cheek
That brings dreams of peace and love.
You are the first thing
My eyes see in the morning,
Before they open,
While the world in which I live,
Is still hidden in my heart.
Though I see your face,
Whether waking or asleep,
Though I feel your touch,
In moments of solitude,
Here in my world, you are real.
by R.W. Dean
You are the voice that sings my song,
The music of my heart,
My morning’s first delight, the way
I want my day to start.
You are the warmth of summer sun,
The beauty of the clouds,
The joy that fills my heart, and makes
Me say your name out loud.
You are the glow that sunset brings
With fading of the light,
The songs I hear the forest sing,
The music of the night.
You are the sum of all these things,
Because I wish it so,
And though you’re just a distant dream,
I thought that you should know.
by R.W. Dean
Let’s sit down and talk,
Not just a note, now and then,
But a real face-to-face.
I need to know if my words
Fill your eyes with light, or tears.
I would like to know,
When I ask you a question,
If your eyes watch mine,
Or, if they look for answers
Somewhere over my shoulder.
I want you to know,
That the things I say are true,
That when I answer
Whatever you ask of me,
My words come straight from my heart.
I want you to feel
As comfortable with me,
As I with you, and,
If your eyes do fill with light,
I want to offer my love.
by R.W. Dean
My head’s full of clouds;
Storm’s been building for a while,
But I didn’t hear
Thunder, or see the storm clouds
Building over my ego.
Still, the rain’s coming,
And it will be a real flood,
A gully-washer,
That is guaranteed to make
My head feel like it’s been flushed.
After the rain stops,
When the flood has run its course,
When words stop flowing,
Carrying away my thoughts,
Like refuse in the gutters,
I’ll check for damage,
I don’t care for most of it,
But one thing matters,
It’s the bridge that carries me
Out of my world, to heaven.
by R.W. Dean
Sometimes, in the course of living, and loving, we encounter emotions that become so profound, as to overwhelm us, to block from our view, the anchor points of our lives that give us stability. These emotions don’t start out that way, they start as a smile, a kind word, a lock of hair brushed casually from an eye, and we barely notice that we’ve noticed. But notice we do, and we put that moment in our emotional bank to see if it will draw interest. Somewhere down the road, these moments start to come more quickly, partly because of relationships that build, and partly because we expect them, need them, will them to occur. And the account builds, as any good investment should, interest accruing upon investment, upon interest, until…
The reality of the moments, those individual deposits that have come one at a time, is forgotten in its individuality, and this new thing is seen as something with a life of its own. Being alive, it needs to be fed, and we feed it those moments, those kind words, that flashing smile, and they are all consumed. But, it is not love, this bright, new emotion. It is the glorification of need, a conflagration of passions that have been untouched for too long, and it carries a price. Just as the sun’s brilliance blocks from view, the beauty of the stars, so does the overwhelming nature of this emotion hide those little moments of beauty that so brighten our lives. So we spend our time thinking about this emotion, contriving ways to get more moments to feed it, using up those moments before we even have a chance to enjoy them.
Is there a lesson to be learned here? Maybe we shouldn’t save our moments of joy, maybe we should just savor them and move on. Maybe we should spend our time living in each bit of time we occupy, then let it pass, like a path through a garden, enjoying each flower where it grows, picking none. Will I learn these lessons? Probably not, too many years walking in the same circle to climb out of the rut now. But that’s another story.
by R.W. Dean
I never meant to love you,
But you were charming,
And I let your honeyed words
Dribble over my stale, white bread life,
Just like it was breakfast,
On a new day,
And I was just a kid
Who never tasted anything so sweet.
I gobbled it up, and stood there
Waiting, hoping
You would dribble some more
Onto my sticky-fingered heart,
And you did,
But it just left me wanting.
The trouble with love
Is the way it grows,
And makes other things grow,
Wanting to be fed, late at night,
To go for a midnight swim
In the honey you save for those
Special moments,
When it’s just you, and not-me.
I never meant to love you,
But I think you knew;
One little step at a time,
You let me down easy,
With sweet honeyed words, and flowers,
I wanted our hearts to play house,
To sing, and dance,
As if time was a pond,
And I could turn around,
And swim right back to you.
I wanted to kiss those honeyed words
Right off of your lips,
And savor the sweetness before I swallowed,
I never meant to love you,
But I do.
by R.W. Dean
Journeys of the heart,
Taken, one twisted highway
After another,
Always lead to the same place,
A tear, and a sad goodbye.
How many goodbyes
Can you say, before the words
Begin to rattle
Around in your empty heart,
Like the seeds in a dried gourd?
How often can you
Let the tears dry on your cheek,
In little white lines,
That no one will ever see,
Because no one looks your way?
Love’s about giving,
It’s not about what you get;
Tell that to your heart,
When you sit alone, at night,
Listening to it beating.
Never stop loving;
Never stop leaving your heart
Lying on the road,
Like pennies on railroad tracks,
To see what it looks like, crushed.
There’s no one to blame,
You’ve opened each door yourself,
Opened, and stepped out,
On one more twisted highway,
One more journey of the heart.
(speaking to the mirror, once again)
by R.W. Dean
She opened like a flower,
Soft, moist,
Glistening in candle light,
Scented
Delicate, like sea spray, or
Mornings
In the garden, with roses,
Dewdrops
On their delicate petals,
Petals,
Filled with anticipation
Of love.
Oh, love,
Let me never drink a wine
Sweeter
Than that, now upon my tongue,
Or hold
A prize, greater than that in
My arms,
Or know more joy, than to have
My lips,
Gently kissing this flower.