Nature has no fairer beauty in all of her majestic land than you that I see now before me. She has no more peaceful a grace than the delicate flower I touch. You are so divine, and I am powerless beside you. I sit still, restless, weeping, for my perfect flower wilts, and I can do nothing to save it. Nothing. I stare into the infinite depths of your soul. There is a calm, a tranquility, an ease of mind when I realize you are still mine. I watch you drift away. I do not move from your side as I, too, find myself drifting.
copyright 12/05/95 Bernadette Snyder
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Not knowing if you love me, but knowing you once did, I dream of you on rainy nights, and hold on to your absence when I am frightened by the thunder. Then let me be near you, since rainy nights are far too scarce. Then let me hold on to you, since my fears have become too strong. I never meant to lose touch with all I am, which is who you are. Yet I suppose my grasp was not tight enough. Cut off those fingers which were too weak! How I despise even the knuckles that let me fall from you! my eyes have grown disgusted at not seeing you, and they ache enough to warrant gouging them out. My ears have missed your voice so long, they have tuned out every other sound as well. We promised we'd never forget each other, and I suppose a name on a holiday card lists counts for something. But I am afraid of what. I hold on tighter to your absence, tears leaving tracks of fire upon my cheeks, and puddles of acid where they fall. When I clear my head, I'll carry on . . .until I am with you again.
copyright 1996 Bernadette Snyder
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Just in Time
I'm thinking right now of the way your whole face lights up when you smile. I'm reminded that even the mention of your name brightens the sun itslef. My mind is wandering to the thought of your hand, and how it gently used to hold mine, and the rest of my body is jealous. Except for my lips, which are oblivious to all but the one moment so long ago, you kissed them. Now my hands are jealous. And I myself even hate this pen I'm holding, because it isn't you. Out of all this rage and jealousy, it is hard to believe my love exists. But alas, my broken heart must feel something for you still. I've heard that love is kind, love is patient. So I guess my heart, while holding out empty hands, holds inside love for you. Because the tattered pieces that remain on my sleeve have learned to become patient. And I thought you always wanted to be a doctor. So let me call on you now, if your office isn't too busy. Maybe you could find a minute or two to slip me in? And now I'm crying again, waiting for you again, and as I look to the sun, I'm seeing your smile again. So I'll be fine for one more day, and die again under nightly shade.
copyright 12/28/96 Bernadette Snyder
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Remember the time you kissed me in secret? My face flushed and your eyes cast down, but a smile upon your lips. you were somewhere neither of us should have been. But we were together for a moment; one brief second to embrace, our lives intertwined. I miss your father's red truck, and that clearing parking lot. I miss those eyes of yours I could not see. Your embarrassment fooled me then and taunts me now. I saw you last night, with your eyes cast downward and a smile on your lips. Yet you stood alone. Could it be you miss that moment, too? Sometimes I convince myself so, and others, I think of trading in my red Bronco for a blue sky, and my memories of you for a rainy night, and my rainy night for just one more moment alone with you.
copyright 1997 Bernadette Snyder
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It's been said that a full moon makes you crazy, but full moons don't shine every night. Then another saying goes that certain foods can bring about certain strange reactions. Yeah, right -- something so strange as my attraction to you? I don't think there is an excuse for my madness; this is what I call it, because I refuse to say I love you. So I search the books for a scapegoat . . . There's one saying that leads you to believe it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
I say that all the poets are paying attention to the wrong things, and I say it's better to be happy alone than sad alone, and I also say you are the #1 cause of madness in my life, the only reason my heart is acting crazy, and my only excuse as to why my soul is filled with the longing to be a poet looking the other way.
copyright 08/11/97 Bernadette Snyder
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