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Poetry
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Source:
Adults
Author:
Ann Marie Saarelainen-Simard
Title:
Slightly out of tune
The radio is out of tune.
I try to find your frequence but the "seek" button keeps on skipping and slipping. Now I'm there, I caught the wavelength, hold it right there, because love is smiling again and I can see your eyes deep inside and far in time without flashing the truth light in your eyes.
An afternoon in time expanded. My love, it used to be this way. Always. But always is so relative, it's not eternity in time, just a bridge between here and there, hoping there is a far away.
Here I am, singing Desafinado again.
"Love is like a never ending melody,Poets have compared it to a symphony,A symphony conducted by the lighting of the moon,But our song of love is slightly out of tune . . . .Once your kisses raised me to a fever pitch,Now the orchestration doesn’t seem so rich,Seems to me you’ve changed the tune we used to sing". . . .
The radio keeps on skipping the best parts. My fingers slip on the keys when I play. I can sing this correctly alone you know - but how long would I want to? Happy chirpy sad songbird on the radio wire, here we go again. We birds are known to be a species that does not cheat. Singing and flying and nesting in couples. And one day the little people will be gone. Would we still recognize each other in twenty years if the nest is empty of emotion, true love who used to be?
I hear the silence echo in the hallways. I'm not sure this is my place. It does not rhyme with always. And rhymes are stings that touch a chord - bittersweet - - -
" De Chine sont venus les pihis longs et souplesQui n'ont qu'une aile et qui volent par couples"
Can I serve divorce papers with the morning paper and a nice breakfast? Have them fedexed with some flowers I never really got, and a note that did not get missing filled with compliments just to make it up to you, not to see you cry? Think again.
Can I sing a song slightly out of tune alone for a million forgotten years ? That seems easier. The sorrow shadow. I don't want to make you cry.
It's your pain against my pining.
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Adults
> Poetry
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