I Met You Here.

I met you here,
under the skies so clear,
when the rains fell,
and I could tell,
if you were around,
just by listening to sounds,
of your shoes thudding on mud,
the marshy grounds,
the swampy lakes,
the tales of fairies,
and other such fakes,
when they seemed so true,
as they dropped from your lips,
how butterflies seemed to,
never leave your fingertips,
when the times would freeze,
in the cold, warm breeze,
when satin ribbons would flutter,
like colorful birds' wings,
when every little twig,
just seemed to sing,
as the sun would set,
as the skies would darken,
your eyes would shine,
they'd light and sparkle,
I'd feel their glow,
on my cheeks,
how they'd keep me,
from falling weak...

*

And now I stare,
at the same wooden seat,
where we'd sit,
rejoice and meet,
everything's unchanged,
the sun's still setting,
the birds still chirping,
the ribbons still fluttering,
the golden eyes,
the fairy tales,
the talks of tunes,
the whispers of the gale,
old friends that I long,
to sing the same old song,
that chimed through branches,
pulled me from the trenches,
out into the sunshine,
to feel the the sun on my skin,
to cleanse me from within,
I long, I yearn, I crave,
to carefully save,
the so tangible flavors,
of love, hate, anguish,
just before they extinguish,
into the quagmire of wilderness...