The following poems are tied together by a common theme. They were taken from my book of poetry called What I Found in the Dark. But they also follow each other chronologically. Think of each of these poems being written by one man regarding the same woman. Watch the story develop. Get a sense of the love involved. And I hope that maybe, just maybe you will get a sense of what it was that he found in the dark. – Clayton Clifford Bye, 05/02/2014 –
Age and Onyx
Near an ivy covered castle wall,
down among the leaves and dirt,
an old, black-stoned necklace lay.
Have you a story, my dear old friend,
of these many days passed by?
Does the fire of love live on?
Is her heart yet young enough to care,
and her hair still raven-dark?
Or have these years been too long,
my war making me a stone killer
on those plains so real and red,
that the heart, as the stone, lost—
left the lady to cry once again.
You are beautiful;
I am no longer:
sleek angles, dark shine
to softness and gray.
The miles hide so much,
a gloss of bright words
drawing passion out
to become new love,
strong behind pictures
etched in minds by time—
childish hopes still held
against beating hearts.
When I step to you,
does the drum falter
as dreams are ended
by light on faces?
Or, perhaps, love lives
in a deeper place
where the wrath of time
falls on blinded eyes.
I hope in waiting,
warm thought and cold truth:
for that day to come
when you touch my skin.
You drew down the moon, but I didn’t see;
no Jim Stewart and Donna Reed are we.
Pain and love can blind the searching soul
from what might be a most fitting role.
Now, layered clothing keeps my embers low.
Was it on purpose? I’m sure I don’t know.
Yet nothing can hide the face or the eyes:
your calm exterior gives up its lies.
The pain of love suppressed is there,
eddied smoke those dark orbs do wear.
So, my passion still released strives for the smile—
a flash here, a moment there, makes all worthwhile.
For in the eyes your smile reflects
more than one such as I expects.
A day, then two, three and part of four,
our weekend ends on a marble floor.
You turn away to hide the tears,
walking forward through all the years.
Time, the beast, is now again,
set right with a flash of pain.
No looking back, no warm smile,
your shoulders braced all the while.
But we have our joy, the days we shared,
those secret moments our hearts were paired.
Don’t Be Sad
The crying beauty of the rose
always fades and dies;
so too the blush of youth.
Yet the searing passion we had
melts in deep comfort
to the full grace of love.