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Many Nights We Shared Our Dreams Together Chrissy


Larsen M. Callirhoe
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Larsen M. Callirhoe

Poem, Many Nights We Shared Our Dreams Together Chrissy

 

Many nights we shared our dreams together.

Many nights we walked and held hands,

but it just wasn’t meant to be.

We fell in love and out of love so fast.

You wanted me to be the warrior in our relationship,

but it was not my style to be.

Heart to heart I was not in a mood to fight you.

You turned out to be nothing but a burnout.

All you cared about was your next high.

Oh how I saw myself in you when I was younger.

But I didn't care to get high all the time.

We rolled the dice one winter morning.

The dice turned out to be craps.

Many years have passed since I last saw you.

I wonder why in the hell I asked you to marry me

in the first place so many years ago.

You gave me a cold stare, took the ring,

and decided to break up with me.

 

We lied about each other's dreams

so hold on here we go

to a path we do not know.

This adventure we share

makes us feel good inside.

I feel so lonely inside my heart.

So long ago we walked this path

without any style.

Heartbeat intertwine as

we run around in circles.

I wonder to myself

if you are not civilized.

We danced to a beat

that was not our own.

We separated while feuding

on a cold winter morning.

Oh how I cried inside

for a few weeks.

How would you know

I really cared for you once.

Larsen M. Callirhoe

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David W. Parsley

Interesting insights, Victor, showing how people think they are listening, believe they have heard and shared. And one day the realization arrives that you were never on the same page, could not have understood the dreams, nor have been truly heard. A piece that tells the truth.

 

Thanks,

- Dave

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An endorsement perhaps that personal relationships rarely turn out exactly as we want them to-- and in general terms I can't help being drawn back in time to John Lennon's words, that "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." B.

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"We separated while feuding

on a cold winter morning."

 

That is doubly sad.

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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