(04 October 1943 / Germany)

Thoughts For My Best Friend Cra

It was the little lines and grooves,
the pores in soft, pigmented skin
the memory of taste and touch
that reared its pesky head,
as if to say, I am still here.
Like Eros, it had perched itself
on top, its gaze to all horizons
that could be seen from there,
Mount Pectoralis always was
base camp for future thoughts,
and for the reminiscence of the heart.

He asked himself, when twilight rose
from misty valley to his mountain top
if demons did exist in the thin air,
and monsters, big and small
would come to join and gladly share
the tranquil sweetness of their melody.

And he decided then, before the night's descent,
that what they had would easily transcend
the threat of evil and its sibling called despair.
And when the forest came alive that lonely night
he knew it would, due to its nature, never end.

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Comments (3)

Melodically beautiful mein F, one of your very best. Our uncle would have been extremely proud...
Oh Herbert, who would have thought you could be so sentimental? :) This is really quite lovely, and I sit here looking at it once again and whiching someone had written a poem like that for me. You captured the thing about a lasting love which stays in the heart, mind, even the skin and glows. Raynette
Elaborate? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? H