(March 2nd,1984 / USA)

Colorado In March

I’d travel the country
writing songs for you
if I thought for a minute
you’d see me in a diff’rent view.

Like an omen—you said,
you know how this feels.
How many rounds is it now?
so sick of cashing in on love’s bad deals.

I don’t blame you
for not wanting to read this sad story
—of innocence gone
consumed by doubt & buried in fury.

Confused & conflicted
again I’ve missed all the cues
falling face down—
struck by love’s clever muse.

You asked me once:
“You miss me? ”
Without a breath I let out:
“Your laugh—especially.”

Do you realize
—we’ve fooled each other?
Never have I been so broken
but Babe, I wouldn’t have bet on another.

There’s a forever that exists
when simplicity’s at heart—
a truth so honest and pure
I couldn’t help but fall for.

So I reluctantly agree:
we were not meant to be a ‘we.’
for you deserve a girl more auroral
than I could ever be.

A girl who shows you
the light amidst the dark
and paints in pastels
all the colors of Colorado in March.

all the colors of Colorado in March.


03/2005

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Other poems of GOLDNER (205)

Comments (5)

Nothing hurts more than realizing it 'just wasn't real' (thx, Jim Croce) We can just say 'f- 'em' and move on, but facing that some things will just never let *us* go, at least, preserves the effort as something beautiful. Nice work
Yes, I live there. 'Such' Mo lives there too. 'I fall to pieces (wah) (wah) (WAH) each time I fall for you! ' Patsy Cline
This is a song! Bertolt Brecht, again. His 'Jenny's Song.' Go ahead, sing aloud, blast away on the stage! Meine Herren, meine Mutter pragte/Auf mich einst ein schlimmes Wor/Ich wurde enden im Schauhaus/Order an einem noch schlimmes Ort....... Let Jenny sing
A complex write with much to take into consideration, you have a lovely style and this is a tight piece, well worth the read, love duncan x
This is very complex - but I loved the ending - you deserve a girl who paints all the colors of Colorado in March. I think you had more to offer than monochrome, but on goes Love, blind, without even so many colors. Congratulations on this ironic, but sad write - your triumph of perception rescues it from mere disappointed love. This is made even more profound by a reading of your other work. Love, Will