The Backpacker

This is how I felt...this is how I still feel...The River, the bridge...a love that I could feel...A memory of him as I watch the dark waters flow by...

This moment will in memory live
As the moment I lived for,
For eight hundred days…
I peek into the river
Under the bridge that flows
I am aware, as I watch
The banks come close…
It was my love
That shaped earth into stones
The arch carved from faith
And columns molded of hope
On that bridge I stand
Over the river that flows…
Its beams are promises
Made and promises kept,
Styled after my dreams
After night long gone…
When heavy in heart I feel,
I will run down my memory
To return to the moment
To peek into the river
Under my bridge that flows…

In your eyes

Is a story untold

Yet I know,

Before next chapter unfolds

That I play a role

In none of them

I looked for me

In every verse

In every line

And every word

But found me nowhere

Then I sighed                    

And turned to the moon

Red in the face

Just going up to work

Yet finding time

To play a game of hide and seek

I ask him why

Why am I not alive

In your eyes

Why is that,

As characters go

I find no part to play

For you know

As far as feeling go

None can match

What I feel for you

The naughty moon

Slowly smiled

And to me said,

How, in his story

can you find

yourself?

Don’t you know,

You are the very ink,

The very paper

On which the story

He writes?

Then he went up the sky

And the corners of my eyes dried

For the moon was…HOPE