Poems by Ann D. Stevenson

I see your star, it's shining bright
amongst the others of the night,
a sight so blessed, as by my eye
your soul now rests in symmetry.

How I love the night time skies,
such magic drifts before my eyes,
these are the times when I aspire
to write what sets my heart on fire.

To write in rhyme my chosen art,
words all coming from my heart,
like my heart they need a beat,
metric poems in measured feet.

Words start forming in a chain,
tumbling round within my brain,
about the love I tried to grasp,
the love no longer in my clasp.

Grief attacks with many spears,
piercing holes for leaking tears,
but gazing at night skies I see
the one lone star I think is thee.

I see your star, still shining bright
amongst the others of the night,
a sight so blessed, as by my eye
your soul now rests in symmetry.

You hold my hand,
I, like a child, feel safe.
You hold my hand,
I feel a warm embrace.
You hold my hand,
my fears begin to fade.
You hold my hand,
and I am less afraid.
You hold my hand,
I know a sense of peace.
You hold my hand,
I feel my troubles cease.

I wasn't there to say goodbye,
to reminisce of times gone by.

I wasn't there to make you smile,
to tell old stories, laugh awhile.

I wasn't there to talk of fun,
the happy times in life's long run.

I wasn't there to share the years,
those times of happiness and tears.

I wasn't there to hear your fear
of leaving those you held so dear.

I wasn't there to feel your pain,
you knew we'd never meet again.

I wasn't there to hold your hand
when you parted from this land.

I wasn't there to share our love,
before you joined the stars above.

I wasn't there, I shed a tear.
In my heart you're always there.

Once I glimpsed another world,
gilded streams of light unfurled,
incandescent trails of wonder
blew my present world asunder.

A gold ethereal sphere above,
a transcendental world of love,
beckoned me, called me to stay,
so close, but I was drawn away.

A tug of human hearts and hands
brought me back to known lands,
perpetual memories in my mind,
another world so nearly mine.

A glass of wine nearby, he sat,
his spaniel beside him on the grass,
he flicked away a solitary wasp,
a buzzard circled overhead.

He watched both bird and insect
they were clearly to be seen,
unlike the predator within,
which lurked inside his bones.

Relaxed, he drank the wine,
a reminder of foreign climes,
snow slopes skied in Méribel,
boating trips on French canals.

Happy times, now long gone,
wine imbibed, creatures flown,
his empty glass caught the light
before the sun went down.