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You Won’t Hear Me Weep
I was born in the spring,
In the land called Northwest.
It was a beautiful thing
And I was the best.
Miles of cable,
Yards of skin.
As soon as I was able,
My life would begin.
In all forms of weather,
I held true to the course.
I brought people together,
Their need was my source.
But one autumn morning
some men with a knife,
without any warning
took control of my life.
My choices were few,
I was created to obey
What could I do,
But prolong this day.
We called out to friends
And loved ones below
We could not pretend
That we didn’t know.
I lie now in a heap,
Forgotten amidst the trouble
You won’t hear me weep
Beneath all the rubble.
The dark clouds now,
Shade my children in heaven
I was so very proud
To be a 757.
©James Fletcher
September 12, 2001
Alaskan Sunrise
Would that I could know
The names of more temperate ones
Bringing light to wakened souls
By your leave as silver runs.
The nature of your bearing
Yields not to my desire
The host of thy caring
Lends breath to my fire.
The spires in prose
Relieved by your light
Kissed by dew on the rose
Forgiven by the night.
Lesser men would kneel
Though reverent in love
On my knee will I steal
Your surrendered glove.
Oh thou in slumber
As these words I write
My smile is encumbered
This love is so right.
© James Fletcher
September 23, 2002
The Ballerina
She dances inside where no one else can see
she knows she is free, her smile, it shows.
To silent strings, an unknown melody
my love moves the rhythm to the chorus she knows.
I come here often to see her dance
gliding across parquet of gold.
Virgin lace flows, her smile, it grows
pulsing, confusing, both warm and cold.
A woman I see, a child I hear
passion and softness blend without words.
She yearns to be held
she cries to be heard.
Retreating from the darkness
and the brightness deep within
her steps, they will follow
'til she dances for me again.
Copyright ©2008 James Fletcher
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