FALLING RITUALS

FALLING RITUALS

We love
quietly now.
Passion's fires
are reduced to glowing embers.
It is dusk,
and evening
and its darkness
with its scent of jasmine,
is approaching.

A kiss at the door,
one brief embrace,
a cuddle at night ...
rituals, leaving traces
of love in their wake.

Falling into habits, now
together, we are growing
older,
but not yet
wiser.

Falling,
rituals give us
peace,
we are
secure
in the gentle knowing
that together
we are lovers
who have passed
times' test.

We enjoy the ember glow
and fall
into another
ritual of love.


mebw
© 7-4-13

ON THE VERGE OF YEARS

ON THE VERGE OF YEARS

She is just fourteen, and thinks she knows
all there is to know about life, and she shows
it off in an off-hand kind of comment
about the state of the world, and we should lament
these grim times ...
on the verge of years
way beyond her time.

She is twenty-five, not that old at heart
growing up too fast, wants a new start
a chance for a life that works out for a change
finding it hard to leave that fast lane ...
not yet her time ...
on the verge of years
falling back into time.

More than fifty is she, with grey in her hair
two not so young children still in need of her care
but the loneliness that comes in the dead of the night
cannot be filled by children in her sight
sad, sad, times
past the verge of years,
the ending of time.

mebw
© 6/9/13