"....And if I were to ask you, to name all of the things that you love, how long would it take for you to say yourself?"
Into which I would reply,
"My Love...I beg you,
To not ask such tragedy,
Disguised behind such allusive phrases,
Towards this decaying soul.
For I fear death would ensure itself upon you,
Just as I have teased, among that dark threshold myself,
On the too many relentless and sleepless nights,
Curled upon my knotted bedsheets."
And while I plead disdainfully in response,
To not ask such frivolous meanings,
Towards something that is all too meaningless,
Cloaked in such a clever disguise.
I know you too,
Would be in fear of my answer.
"What I do know my love,
Is that you would be the first name on my list,
Onto which I base everything in this life.
From which all that I hold dear,
And can thus love unconditionally, without any fault."
"And to be without you,
Would be like living a lonely, cold night.
Because I assure you,
The dying embers left upon this beating heart,
Would slowly burn out and fade away,
Leaving nothing, but paper-charred ash,
Left upon its wake."
"Because, I compare you to the sunshine,
That slowly kisses her rays,
Delicately across your withered skin,
Just before her blossoms begin to bloom,
In a newly begotten lovers spring."
"And in turn, I fear,
I would be as a dandelion,
That is left clinging to the summer winds breeze,
Threadbare, still...
Waiting to perish; be blown away,
Into feather-light cotton pieces.
Just like all the hopeless wishes,
That my tender, inner child wished for,
Which all were made in vain."
"With you gone from my life,
I would be nothing, but a lonely weed.
Covered in darkness, with no room to ever grow, live or flourish."
"Or the kind of ever changing Autumn,
That can solemnly creep upon you.
The shedding of ones own leaves.
All but left scattered, torn and forgotten,
Trampled upon painful, reminiscent yesterdays,
That were created by loving memories of illusion,
Left behind inside a fruitless imagination."
"And as if to prove a point.....
Setting against the backdrop,
Would be of the most hauntingly, painted pinkish-orange hue'd skies,
One can ever behold to be seen;
Blindly."
"My love,
I'm afraid, I too,
Would soon turn to fall
Amongst those wilted leaves."
"Just as assuredly,
When the unwelcome winter begins to settle in,
The beginning of such delicate ice patterns,
That were lovingly created and formed,
From something of that, in which cannot be held,
(With the cupping of two paired hands)
Would trace upon a broken heart,
Jagged shards of cut glass,
Left alone to weep upon an incomplete, bleeding soul."
As those still moments sway,
Right before I begin to answer,
There you are...
Sitting quizzically, with your gaze upon me.
I soon begin to realize....
The response to the words I would say,
Would never give the slightest justice,
To the injustice of such a complex question,
That was bestowed upon me;
Lovingly.
You say,
"....And if I were to ask you, to name all of the things that you love, how long would it take for you to say yourself?"
Into which I would breathlessly reply,
(With my weeping head bowed down)
"Don't hold your breath. For I fear, the seasons will change if you do. And my love, I do love you so....."
