A Christmas Poem
Years are packaged in months, days, hours and minutes.
Who is to say that time is a given?
Perhaps the lone snowflake that falls on a child’s eyelash for the first time, then produces a smile or a chuckle, is a memory so precious that it becomes the foundation of a life.
A memory lost in time but so wonderful that it some how shapes a personality with warmth and honesty.
So much that all else is pale in comparison as tender years turn to dusk.
And what is the value of a smile given on the worst of days?
And, a word of encouragement when all seems lost?
Is it not the actions of our lives that determine the measure of our existence and not the months, days, hours and minute ?
Slow your holiday to a whisper see the cold wind on the face of a loved one that has returned from the weather to the warmth of your arms. Hear the sound of the snow crackle under your feet and the ice as it falls from the rooftop. See the blue bird that is in such beautiful contrast to the leafless gray trees.
Your heart-filled words of expression to me, and mine to you, should become the best of our memories. Therefore, be happy, content and wonderfully covered in the blissful senses of this holiday and all that God has blessed you and your family, both big and small.
Copyright - Art Hyde 12/03
My Wife
A paradox did He create,
of love so precious that it pains the heart,
yet continually yearns for more.
Where can a man find greater joy,
than from his lover’s touch,
to fall helplessly deep into her eyes,
to bask in the warmth of her caress.
It is not the reward of friend or
life’s great treasure that makes me swell,
but her, my wife,
and her soft whisper that speaks my name,
and causes me to become blind to all but her.
It is her skin that traces mine,
then fills my head with her sweet perfume.
Her warm breathe
makes love to mine,
her lips so full, so soft, so delicious.
Her breasts, she reveals to me,
so I alone can see this special gift,
that causes me to bring her close,
so that two can become one.
This is the fruit of life,
as He intended.
Of man and wife to share their gathered moments,
so that each can borrow from the river,
finding their beautiful secret,
in a song only they can hear.
I know that love is His greatest creation,
expressed to me,
as my lover and my wife.
I love her so.
Copyright 2004
Art Hyde/04
My son is precious,
full of hope, yet sorrow.
My son is me,
relived with all I’ve grown to be.
By my mistakes and triumphs,
we share our future’s destiny.
I proudly watch him live each day,
less to compare him as I see.
He steps away,
then back once more,
to take another look at me.
Standing near in silence,
watching invisibly,
I see this man has grown with talent,
home at last – expectancy.
My eyes now open,
seeing clearly,
he invents uniquely,
as only he can – individually.
He will live past my tomorrows,
my love eternally,
Sharing with his sons he’ll borrow,
all those things that were good bought me.
My smile he’ll see on his son’s face,
my laughter fines it’s way in space,
so close yet far from my embrace.
So tenderly my intent to make,
a lesson in love someday to see.
Art Hyde
Copyright 2009
