Poetry
"Is she OK?" he asks
from a distance. She looks
alright, but who knows
what's going on inside of her head?
From a distance she looks
quite sane. But looks can be deceiving.
What's going on inside her head
tells a completely different story.
Quite sane? Thoughts can be deceiving.
Her heart
tells a completely different story.
She doesn't know which to believe.
Her heart
or her head, one of them is lying.
She doesn't know what to believe.
Did he hear her crying?
In his head he knows, somebody's lying.
In his heart,
he thought he heard her crying.
He doesn't know who to believe.
In his heart,
he knows, it isn't she that's lying,
He doesn't know what he believes.
So many years have passed, could it be?
He knows. It's not his heart that's lying.
"This above all to thine ownself be true."
So many tears have passed, can it be?
It's time to stop the crying.
"This above all to thine ownself be true."
Did she write? Does she know?
It's time to stop the lying.
"Is she OK?" he asks . . .
© 2005 Bobbie Ann Pimm
He touched her in a very special place
Somewhere so deep inside her lover’s heart
He reached across the void of time and space
And that is how her dream of love did start
Somewhere so deep inside her lover’s heart
The hope of one true love began to bloom
And that is how her dream of love did start
It all began with just one little tune
The hope of one true love still strives to bloom
So many hopes and dreams have since gone by
It all began with just one little tune
With each refrain she still begins to cry
So many hopes and dreams have since gone by
Each day her dream of love begins anew
With each refrain she still begins to cry
Perhaps today he’ll say this love is true
Each day her dream of love begins anew
She reaches ‘cross the void of time and space
Perhaps today she’ll know this love is true
And touch him in a very special place
© 2005 Bobbie Ann Pimm
Unmoving, permanent,
visible to few.
Enduring -- yet
instantly crushable,
by one.
Boundless, yet secure.
Home to dreams.
Residence of pain.
Depths uncharted,
but by one.
Guarded, secretive.
Under lock and key.
A treasure within.
An open book,
to one.
Such are these,
the four walls
surrounding my heart.
And nobody knows them,
but one.
But one,
who has built
these same four walls
that I know so well.
For we are one.
We are one. But,
as they bind us
together, our walls
keep us apart.
For we are two.
© 2002 Bobbie Ann Pimm
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