What Can I Do What I Can

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Something to tide over these long summer days as we head into one of the longer droughts of the year (poetically speaking). Big thanks to ET and JL, you reminded me of finding home beyond home
itself.

Submitted: July 06, 2018

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Submitted: July 06, 2018

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What Can I Do

 

Leaves on branches,

Cut the street in two.

Wind takes a chance &,

Spreads them across the open blue.

 

But is that all, Wind?

Or do I hear something more?

Thousands of moving parts,

In the bustle of downtown’s roar.

 

Do I hear the Earth,

Rocks falling or clinking glasses?

If I look towards the North,

Distant lights and dying ashes

 

...

 

Town tucked away,

Hills, homes, greener pastures.

Something on display,

Something there that matters.

 

Girl waits by her window,

Mother’s voice in the hall.

Her porch chimes echo and they billow,

She is ready to leave in the Fall.

 

But still she thinks back,

To a couple years ago,

When she knew what she lacked,

And how she wanted to grow.

 

In someone she found the same,

And he was everything to her.

Then he was gone quick as he came,

Her is turned to were.

 

Or maybe it wasn’t quite that simple,

But she liked to think it was.

Avoiding the emotional cripple,

It ended, “just ‘cause.”

 

 

Friday,

Not my day,

Cause I’m way,

Way,

Way,

Too far gone to stay,

To be okay.

Young bodies in decay.

So betraying its almost cliche.

 

I want to speak to you,

But I can’t know what you mean.

You’re here, Your heart is there,

And you’re somewhere in between.

 

I’m running out of time,

So let me say it plain.

I gotta say it now,

Before I go North in chains.

 

We can make it work,

You and I.

You’ve got to give it some thought.

We did it once before,

Those parting words meant a lot.

 

Been awhile,

But time didn’t mean anything then.

You walked the miracle mile,

And I’ve accounted for my sins.

 

I’ve been to the parks,

Where we lay our heads.

I brought it back to the start,

Where you and I tread.

 

And so I’m asking,

For one last time.

In these words, basking,

Hearing those distant porch chimes.

 

If so, Ave.

If not, Vale.

 

...

 

What I Can Do

 

Cloudy nights make me nimble,

So the boy goes to the comfort of the covers

Because sometimes the fix is as simple,

As two words, one to another.

 

I did, did I?

 


© Copyright 2019 Dan Zuniga. All rights reserved.

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