Ten year repetitive cycles, autobiographical


Decades of the Heart


I fell in love once fifty years ago;
a little girl with pony tail
first grabbed my heart and seized my soul
and wouldn't let them go.

We both were young and innocent
and too naive to know
how deep to love,
how far we want to go;

for she was five and I was eight
so many years ago.



I fell in love once forty years ago;
a younger girl from Israel
snatched up my soul and stole my heart;
she wouldn't let them go.

We both were young though old enough
to try new ways to show
how much to love,
how far we ought not go;

for we were both in teenage years,
so many years ago.



I fell in love once thirty years ago;
a young soprano, southern lass,
won both my soul and callow heart.
She didn't let them go.

We still were young, though changing fast,
with still much more to grow
deeper in love
till death we planned to go;

for we were two living as one
so many years ago.



I fell in love once twenty years ago;
a woman fair of Russian stock
desired not my soul nor heart
and surely let them know.

We both left ties too loosely bound,
few uttered words we spoke.
We loved instead
from dawn through moonless night

as if there were no time to change
so many years ago.



I tried to love once just ten years ago;
a señorita, sly and small,
played with my heart and killed my soul
in ways I didn't know.

She was too young, or I, too old
to plant the fertile seed
of love so bold
to recreate a son

a daughter, too, a family gone:
not many years ago.



I still feel love since several years ago;
an image mirrored in my mind
who took my heart and soul intact
in ways just we should know.

A hundred years with us have passed
with children still in need
of all our love,
three generations grown,

no time to ponder where they went,
those many years ago.



If ever I should want to love again
someone who sees no age nor years
but loves with all her heart and soul
will be the one I know.

My ancient flesh will join with hers
in all encompassed bliss,
my renaissance
revealed at last anew

where we can live and look not back
on fond years as they go.





Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 1087 times
Written on 2006-12-10 at 19:04

Tags Love  Life  Growth 

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