(no subject)
The first and last lines of this came from a sheet of lines from poems,
and we had to use one at the start and one at the end. I'm not gonna
credit them, but I personally think they fit my little poem pretty good.
All This Time
Softly in the dusk, a woman is singing to me
And she has been for quite some time.
From the look in her eyes,
It doesn’t seem like she plans on stopping.
Not anytime soon,
Anyway.
I ask her if she won’t stop,
Would she at least like to sit.
She softly whispers,
“Not at all.”
Our eyes lock, I stare, and blankly,
I say,
“Are you sure?”
She nods her head, and extends her hand.
“Why don’t you dance with me?”
Her sweet voice says.
“I’m not much on my feet.”
“I don’t mind. I just want a partner.”
A smile creeps across her face.
How can I say no?
I stand up, and brush off my legs,
Then take her hand.
She smiles bigger.
Then, something hits me.
“But what are we going to dance to?”
I say, keeping my eyes locked with hers.
“What else?” she says.
“That doesn’t exactly…”
“To my voice of course!”
She cuts me off.
I normally yell when people cut me off.
But those eyes.
We dance.
We dance for what seems like hours.
Her voice dictates which way we turn,
How we slide, how we step.
After however long it was,
She finally stops her melody.
Our eyes stayed locked.
My chest feels her hand,
And she smiles,
Then turns.
I say goodbye to her, and begin to walk away.
Fifty feet out, I hear a yell.
She wants my attention,
But now what for?
She hurries up,
Panting, and says,
“Wait mister, which way is home?”
All This Time
Softly in the dusk, a woman is singing to me
And she has been for quite some time.
From the look in her eyes,
It doesn’t seem like she plans on stopping.
Not anytime soon,
Anyway.
I ask her if she won’t stop,
Would she at least like to sit.
She softly whispers,
“Not at all.”
Our eyes lock, I stare, and blankly,
I say,
“Are you sure?”
She nods her head, and extends her hand.
“Why don’t you dance with me?”
Her sweet voice says.
“I’m not much on my feet.”
“I don’t mind. I just want a partner.”
A smile creeps across her face.
How can I say no?
I stand up, and brush off my legs,
Then take her hand.
She smiles bigger.
Then, something hits me.
“But what are we going to dance to?”
I say, keeping my eyes locked with hers.
“What else?” she says.
“That doesn’t exactly…”
“To my voice of course!”
She cuts me off.
I normally yell when people cut me off.
But those eyes.
We dance.
We dance for what seems like hours.
Her voice dictates which way we turn,
How we slide, how we step.
After however long it was,
She finally stops her melody.
Our eyes stayed locked.
My chest feels her hand,
And she smiles,
Then turns.
I say goodbye to her, and begin to walk away.
Fifty feet out, I hear a yell.
She wants my attention,
But now what for?
She hurries up,
Panting, and says,
“Wait mister, which way is home?”