david lessard Poems

There are dreams that wil not ever die,
HIdden in the corners of one's mind;
Dreams that linger and persist,
That only will and memory can find.
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Did you think that you could break my heart,
Anymore than it's been broken?
Did you think that you could cause more pain,
By some words that you've not spoken?
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Don't say you will not see me,
Don't say that I'm a stranger -
I love you with all my heart,
You don't need to feel a danger.
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Tell me, if you can, the road that leads to life,
Tell me, if you know, the path that leads to love;
If you can show the way, without any strife,
Then you can be my mate or perhaps my turtledove.
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How like a flower was your love,
Blooming for a season;
Then swept away and lost,
For want of any reason.
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Doncha hate to move? I know I do.
It could be just across the street,
new neighbors maybe, hard to meet,
I think I'd rather have the flu.
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I don't suppose I'll ever know,
the reason that you had to go;
I don't suppose you knew yourself,
Why we put love upon the shelf.
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What happens to the good poems?
Where do they go to die?
Do they fade away to nothing?
Our do they in some hearts lie?
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One day, I'll write my book -
The words will pour right out -
You'll shake when you do look -
When first, I begin to shout.
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Caught between barbeque and maple syrup,
I can't tell a branding iron from a stirrup -
Horses are foreign to me, as is a steer,
and from rodeos and cowgirls, I stay clear.
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