Part I : The present of the past

It kept raining, the city seemed dead,
As lifeless as his songs.
Dark and gloomy as the place were,
There was a gentle knock on the door.

Apprehensive, tensed,
He opened the door,
And there she was,
The muse of his every song.

He had no idea on why she was,
Pinched himself,
twice on arms.
Elated, on a high,
he whistled a sigh.
With a voice he could hardly muster,
Ushered her inside.

She looked every bit the angel,
He had dreamt her to be,
The raindrops in her body,
Seemed an extension of what beauty could be.
The lips, the eyes,
The hair auburn,
The horizons revolved around her,
She was the sun.

Part II : The past, past

The memories of yesteryear had always stayed,
Kept coming back to this day and if they may,
Took him back to a particular date and time,
It was difficult but he had looked her in the eye,
Expressed his love,
His anguish,
And promises of a life they’d together sail by.

But their moment had passed,
Love, for them,
Could have never last.
She was the one sensible,
Knew it all before,
Kissed him on the cheek,
And left silently as the white she wore.

Part III : The present of the past, Part II

He offered her a drink,
And she politely declined.
Sat beside him,
They began to talk life.

They both had grown,
In their time apart,
Fair share of memories,
They both knew how they last.

He felt something on his face in sometime,
It was aching,
He had smiled for this this long after a long long time.
The realization kicked in on what he had lost,
A tear sprout out,
Made his eyes its home.

He couldn’t look up for a while,
And then he looked her in her eyes,
They were a reflection of what he felt,
And they knew,
A connection was made.

They made love,
And it was tender,
Slow and soft,
He wanted to let the moment last forever.

A part of him knew that it were a dream,
She would not be there if he opened his eyes.
But for now, one could wish for nothing else.
He was smiling as he drifted off to sleep,
Watching in peace how her breasts moved,
While she breathed.

Part IV : The present

One day,
Maybe he’ll love again.

One day,
Maybe he’ll feel again.

Why does he cry?
He still hasn’t lost it all.
But the voice inside,
It haunts.

It curses, it yells,
It blames him for the mistakes he never made.
He drowned himself in whiskey to make it go away,
Killing himself, his conscience,
Memories of yesterday.

One day,
Maybe he’ll live again.

One day,
Maybe he’ll dance again.

She was his to own,
His to caress.
She was the sun,
The moon,
The flower which made him bloom.

He never wants to, but he remembers the kiss,
The goodbye that wasn’t,
She had left him while he was asleep.

He kept thinking that it was a dream,
Happily forgetting,
The life could be so clean.

He had made himself believe that it never happened,
The night wasn’t what it once seemed.
Must be a product of the hallucinations which come around,
She forgot her umbrella on the porch.