we'll always have bookstores.....

connection and the moment of truth
our eyes met and the only thing i could think of was you
the world around me vanished into backround
it was like we two were the only people on earth
the conversations around us blend together
creating the music that serenades this moment
your hair dances in the wind
your eyes light the sky
and your smile...
your beautiful smile warms my heart
in such a way that the sun itself is envious
if all God's creation sings of His greatness
your note could make an atheist preach
but when the signal is lost
and the contact is broken
when i rejoin reality
and adjust my focus
ill still be thinking of you
i cant help but be thinking of you
like opening a camera and exposing the film
your image has been burned into memory
and my mind is ruined for anything else

two sillouettes (the art of young love)

the room is spinning like the gears of a clock
its gotten so late but it doesnt matter
time stopped the first time you saw her
it seems like a lifetime and a day ago
all one in the same
the room is silent from the end of conversation
the only sound now is beating of hearts
its the art of young love
so delicate and innocent
the moment is all that matters
two sillouettes outlined in soft moonlight
her eyes in his and their eyes locked
so subtle is the movement
that both are startled by the closing gap
when their lips finally meet
no more beauty in all of nature
than when a pair of youthful lovers
lose sight of all else
and kiss as if tomorrow would never come
and yesterday never happened

blue

Walking around on a warm spring day, back and forth and too and fro, an aimless wander with no direction, surrounded by people on all sides yet so alone, but its a sentiment shared by all, a woman looks at me and laughs, she lost a love so long ago the headstone has faded, in stark contrast was her memory of him, as fresh as the flowers she left that morning, rising up carried by a staircase, the top holds nothing new, just a mirror of the bottom, but so much closer to the light, sitting down at a table meant for more, the empty chairs say more than the one in use, across the way three friends enjoying each others company, they talk about the future, something they all have so much of, at the same time the end of an era, in a year they might not remember the things they said today, in the last leg of pointless journey, the beginning's the end and the middle is behind me, before i leave a girl confronts me, "do you like the color blue", she asked so intensely, "is that the color of your eyes", "no" i think "its just the hue of my mood".

Not really sure if that was a poem or short story.