Storm

Touch as strong as a summer breeze
Wake as mild as a hurricane
A storm that blew a warm sun beam
Into a winter's lonely dream

Now the season's gone; passed by
Time is swirling down the drain

Is it too late? Is it futile?
A winter's hope to win storm's smile?

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may; I wish I might
Kiss the mistress of the night.

Lone dusk; bad sleep;
Aching yearn, buried deep.
In dream, does torment slowly creep.
I wish I hadn’t been so cheap.

Cheap to do, not to feel.
Meager action killed the deal.
Now I wish I could appeal,
"My sweet, I’m really not a heel."

Is she gone? The last dance?
Not another nineteenth chance?
Unfulfilled, this romance:
We didn’t even go to France.

Quote from Father Mulcahy of M*A*S*H:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
A bag of peanuts at my feet.
Should I die before I wake,
Give them to my brother, Jake.

Random

He
A random brush stroke on her pastel canvas
A free verse footnote in her poetic journal
That annoying piece of traditional garb
To contradict her liberal apparel

She
A liberal brush stroke in his pastel journal
A random canvas on his apparel’s traditions
That annoying contradiction to his poetic garb
A free piece of verse in his footnote existence