Black Poetry : The Ghost of Stephanie

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by alyce, Jun 25, 2002.

  1. alyce

    alyce Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    for my niece....in love with the widower husband of my deceased friend, Stephanie...who died in childbirth 13 years ago....


    melissa
    from the moment you opened
    yourself to his words you were
    captivated by his charms
    and began to mentally
    sketch yourself by his side
    in his eyes
    in his arms

    sweetie
    there is no way to escape
    what is what
    and who is who
    the fantasy in your head
    is not reality... right now
    for him, there is no "you"


    love
    there are mysteries we
    won't solve
    & we will not know the answers
    to all our questions 'why?'
    why did her daughter live
    to be motherless?
    why did she have to die?
    why did you fall in love with the
    father?
    why does love make you cry?

    darling,
    I understand, you love his
    smooth sophistication
    but sista all you are to him
    is a good friend, a babysitter
    the rest is in your imagination

    listen
    he is a man, a dedicated father
    and yes, a special kind of brother
    but right or wrong
    his soul is not free
    his heart's still married
    to another


    alyce (c) 2002
     
  2. baller

    baller Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    life is filled with complex syncracies that grip us...hold us...cause us to do those things that some may/may not understand. in the end, it is each of us that must guide our individual steps in the direction we feel we must travel.

    gripping, Ms A.:(

    NICEly done.
     
  3. Joyce

    Joyce Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Alyce,

    The storyline is so well written into this poem. As always, you put the capital letter on the word 'deep'...always.

    Thanks for sharing this poem. I can tell it's very close to you.
     
  4. shaz

    shaz Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Infatuation is fleeting and best savored in absence where the elusions of desires can be carefully developed into the tender moments that never were
    Only a real friend would be kind enough to shine the spotlight on a friend like this and risk ridicule in efforts to prevent real pain
     
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