Quiet Evenings

Since I apparently forgot to share this when it was first written, back at the beginning of March, here is my first piece that started me back on the poetry wagon: Quiet Evenings.


Southern accents twanged.
Soft dying light filtered
from above.
Trees embraced their limbs overhead.
Spanish moss outstretched towards
the lovers below.
Heels clicked on the cobblestones.
For once,
she didn't feel like she was dying.


The moon blinked awake,
unable to stay away.
The sigh of the setting sun
deaf to those that didn't know
how to listen.
Lush greenery kept a watchful eye.
The lightning bugs danced.
All around,
the world simultaneously
died and came to life.
Himself included.

The houses stood guard
on either side of the narrow street.
The tall windows shuttered;
this moment private,
not meant for all their eyes to see.
The crickets sang,
as the moonlight bathed them
in its glow.
The perfect melody.
He caressed her cheek-
their final moments.
The trees seemed to bow,
hugging them closer still.

The stars winked overhead.
Her silken skin seeming
aglow with their light.
Heels stopped clicking,
lightning bugs landed,
crickets quieted.
The world froze.
With their eyes locked,
the lovers danced through time;
their past, present, and future
mingling into one.
He was hopelessly hers.
She was unendingly his.
They were infinite love,
given flesh.