POEMS

written by

Peter John Villion

Love, if I weep it will not matter,
And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about it,
But it is good to feel you there.

Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,
White and awful the moonlight reached
Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere
There was a shutter loose – it screeched!

Swung in the wind – and no wind blowing –
I was afraid and turned to you
Put out my hand to you for comfort –
And you were gone! Cold as the dew.

Under the hand the moonlight lay.
Love, if you laughed I shall not care;
But if I weep it will not matter –
Ah, it is good to feel you there.

Love's Philosophy

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever,
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another’s being mingle; -
Why not I with thine?

See! The mountains kiss the high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another,
No sister flower would be forgiven;
As if disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea; -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

Pain

Once I've loved and cried,
Was left without telling why
Flowers wither and trees died
And so did my trust and pride.

Never again shall I love,
Even look at women's smile
For they will only stab at your heart
With a dagger from their
Treacherous hearts

All is fair in love they say
Such it is in fairytales
But fate seems to be unfair
For the mistress of my love is PAIN

Memories or Dreams

Age has narrowed my choices and forced
Changes in my ways, so I invent a past
Never really lived and envision a future
That exists only in my secret dreams.

No sorrow have I for the ways of my youth
Just said the choices are no longer the same.
For in truth this is one shame of aging,
Living now as I must, not as I choose.

Caught between two worlds, the life I’ve lived,
And the life of dreams that I wish were real,
Now I live the way I had chosen because
The body can no longer do the mind’s dreams.

And so I live with memories I never had. Why?
Youth was spent imagining someday futures.
But I awoke to find the future was today
And I had only thoughts, hopes, and dreams.

I am older with some dreams left behind,
But still I think of ways to give myself the
Youth I never lived; thus, I have found another
Sorrow of age – living dreams I never had.

If care is not taken, unreal memories
Are given life. Frequently I wish that
Some dreams had been real so today I could
Relive memories instead of unlived dreams.

History slightly rewritten but without harm;
A snip here, a tuck here and what was small
Becomes large and what was undone – done.
A few liberties taken to enhance the past.

But isn’t this the privilege of gaining age:
Mixing dreams and memories as if both were
The same, and adlibbing the truth to excite
All who listen even if no one else believes?

Deep inside I know things were
Not as I recount, nor were deeds
Quite as brave as I like to remember.
But are they memories or dreams?