PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I sit in the parlor patiently waiting your return.

Time has mysteriously stood still, yet the face of

the clock changes as the minutes and hours pass.



Finally, I hear footsteps approaching. The doorknob

warbles as a hand gently turns it and the door opens.

In you walk oblivious to your surroundings.



Slowly you step forward until the toes of your shoes

are flushed with the base of the bottom step.

As you climb the stairway, taking one step at a time,

you stop on each, long enough for both feet to be together.



I knew, that, once you reached the landing you will

remove your day suit and dress properly for dinner.

At this time, I approach the dinning table making sure

all is in it's proper place.



I ready your drink; one cube, light on the splash,

just the way you like it.

I then return to my perch, waiting the arrival

of my dinner guest.



He's extremely slow today, so I rise to

go see if all is well.I arrive in the room,

in which he should be readying himself and as I

glance around I find his dinner clothes exactly

as I placed them earlier.

Untouched.



I crossed the room and peered out the window toward

the drive. There he was all dressed and entering

an unknown vehicle. From this distance I could not view the driver.



He had slipped out through the hidden stairway.

(The one I use to used in my younger days).

He did not remember that I knew it was there.

This house once belonged to my parents.



I fell back onto the bed where his dinner clothes are.

I was completely bewildered. My brain was racing,

my face flushed, the room seem to be spinning.

What happened? What did I do to deserve this?

Why didn't he tell me?



All those years, thirty years, to this day, filled

with wholeness and honesty.We became one spirit

in two seperate bodies, he in mine, I in his.

Not even a cross word came between us.



We loved our little world:

Walks on the beach, stopping now

and again to steal a kiss and watch

the birds play. Arms wrapped around each

other as if we were attached at the hips.

Strolls through the woods, playing our little

guessing game:

"Name that Vegetation", even though we knew

the answers as well as we knew our names.



Our travels together in laughter and joy.

Was this all a play? Is this his first affair, or has

there been others? Do I leave with nothing, or is

he the one that looses all we have together?

There will be no fifty/fifty, it is either all or nothing.



All these questions in my mind, sieving through for

the proper answers, when the phone rang...It was him,

my love/the traitor. His auto has broken down

and he would be delayed, but, not for long.

As I return the receiver to it's cradle,

I realize it was just a dream and he still

belongs to me.



Life is fragile:

  Love carries ten percent of life,

  Trust has the burden of carrying

  the remaining ninety percent.

Dreams are an insight into our

  subconscious memory banks.