Some Kind Of Wonderful

Is this where I’m supposed to rip the picture
of our love in half and burn the memory of your smile
in the fire pit of my anger?
Is this the part in the movie script where I’m supposed
to break down and wilt into pathetic
ball of crumbled self-hate because you are no longer
the nest of warmth next to me to wake me with a stare?

Who the fuck made up the rules for a broken heart anyway?

Because tears do not drip drop into puddles of emptiness
without you by my side because you instilled the courage
to love and to bare a soul I kept hidden all my life.
You welded my heart into a concrete storage place
for dedication, passion and caring that can never again
be penetrated by the crafty hammer of loneliness.
You showed me a companionship that will last beyond
the fortitudes of partnership.

You are indeed some kind of wonderful
for recognizing the world out there through eyes
visualized to heal. And you healed me
without leaving a scar; without leaving me with an ache
that returns with every memorized vision of hurt
and you continue to be that sweet morning sunshine
that provides the vitamin D I need to rise and shine
as fearless and provide an energy to reveal to life
the brighter side of believing.

It is my pride and human nature that is defining you
as some kind of wonderful.

© 2009
Tarringo T Vaughan

It Came To Me In A Dream

I'v stood here before; right here
in the center of a moment watching my own existence
romance the skies of time with elegant
touches of prismatic duration.

But these were not my hands;
these were the hands of history
massaging everything that is now
into the relaxation of reoccurrence

of momentary fingerprints smudged
down the glass of fossil images reflecting
faces emerged within visions of sound/silent
but heard brightly in mutation.

But these were not my ears;

These were the ears of sight
listening once again to the sweet melody
of imagination as it walks
on hard wood of oak waxed by reality.

I'v stood here before; right here again
in the middle of my mind watching jumbled
thoughts perform on the stage of consciousness

with no beginning act and no ending
applause; just the stage fright of symbolic distortions
serenading with gestures of definition/undefined

but present in the clarity of sleep.

And it all came to me in a dream
that I'v stood here before( not as me)
but as fragments of imagination’s reality.

© 2010
Tarringo T Vaughan