Composed With Love (Serpentine Verse) Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

I observed a drifting continent. I
watched him tend to his garden of song, watched
clouds appear then disappear, drifting clouds
relinquished in smiles and tears, relinquished
on unslept pillows of early morn, on
sheets unwrinkled by gentle sleep, those sheets
empty of the notes in his mind, empty
of the song in his heart and empty of
the one who watches in silence and the
one who blossoms in the shadows, the one
swept with passion like ivory keys swept
into a melody that burst into
flame. A streetlamp flickers outside, its flame
planted over cobblestones and planted
as a star or a silver haze or as
a beacon for iridescent wings, a
spotlight for a lone pianist, spotlight
like moonlight-glistening solitude, like
a lover making love blossom or a
rising sun thinking of you and rising.

He collaborates with the night, and he
understands fire and desire, understands
dreaming for the sake of dreaming, dreaming
of the one who will understand whims of
wanting to go, wanting to stay, wanting
more by the minute every day and more
than he will ever be, so much more than
she will ever see through eyes alone. She
must see him with her heart and soul. She must
recognize him in her bones, recognize
life worth living with him and through him, life
living in verse, music, and song, living
in silence when things get too loud and in
the solitude of being happy, the
secrets shared that are no longer secrets.

Blues and ballads ripen like wine - blues
of oceans in his eyes like bright skies of
hope and promise, life and breath, healing hope
that blossoms into something sacred, that
bleeds into a medley of love, that bleeds
into whole notes and half notes, bleeds into
quarter notes suspended from a quarter
moon spilling into sweet silence. The moon
resting. We spend our lives running, resting,
bursting, fading, falling, again bursting
into kaleidoscope colors, into
stained glass masterpieces, the fragments stained
with the seasons, with ash and cinder, with
the pretense of fading into dark. The
light turning petals into song, soft light
filtered through windows of the soul, filtered
and subdued like a bird in the hand, and
singing of a caged existence - singing.

Fingers express a sky of rain. Fingers
sail over an ivory sea and sail
under lashes like a willow, under
wings that soar inside of me, gentle wings
trebled within a night so still, trebled
within clefs of a songbird's bill, within
a song composed with love and beauty, a
song that sings of simple duty, a song
in search of a twin soul's flame burning in
wont of someone to call his name, in wont
of that steady, unwavering flame, of
time impassioned with an urgent need, time
for sweet destiny to intercede, for
mountains to move in search of home, mountains
wherever the eyes can roam, wherever
the moon rises and the heart can see the
song that he composed for me. Sacred song
sweet as a perfumed rose, sweeter than sweet
kisses ‘pon sleepy eyes that close, kisses
as gentle as a falling feather, as
whispers of words or breath on skin, whispers
composed in the chambers within, composed
notes of A, B, C, D, E, F, G, notes
to last forever inside of me, to
endure beyond the bounds of time, endure
the burden of life's difficult climb, the
storms to weather, the suffering, the storms
that swell in gypsy spring, a shorebird that
seeks shelter, a resting place, one that seeks
a welcome face, home in the heart of a
belovèd so adored, the belovèd
piano to harpsichord, piano
playing an enchanting refrain, playing
softly subdued like falling rain, softly
falling upon black hair of night, falling
on cobblestones within the streetlight, on
glass panes reflecting the stars and moon, glass
full of wine like a tipsy balloon, full
to the brim and overflowing, toast to
a love forever strong and growing, a
lady whose love never ends, a lady,
a lover, a beautiful friend, and a
star falling into an endless dream, star
flower floating, eyes agleam, a flower
spirit of celestial light, spirit
fallen through clouds this deep, dark night, fallen
into a mahogany case, into
strings and hammers warm embrace, into strings
he was born to be a part of as he
composes with passion and composes
a skein of beautiful surrender, a
sprig of love open and tender, a sprig
of prayer lifted in hopeful hands, of
one who listens and understands, the one
sent as a blessing from up above, sent
a movement of music, breath, and love, a
love forever and ever to be, love
that will not fade with the evening light, that
love of a pianist and poet, love
unswayed, be it better or worse, unswayed
by the breath of a moon grown pale or by
sun or shadow or ancient spell, a sun
gripping the world by its shoulders, gripping
shadows until there are no more shadows.
Love is nothing without someone to love.