creek music

There was a creek behind the house
where a man waded back and forth in bare feet.
fireflies followed children in the moonshine.

it was there i sat pouring over the hours,
during the days where i thought about nothing
at all for a long time.

except the the creek music that crept like his fingers on that guitar.

But thinking about his guitar would trip my mind again.
If I think about that boy I’ll surly die again.

The man who walked the creek
called out to me that love is scripted scene.

people never read what’s in between the lines.
he said you can never trust their eyes.

Listen, I said, he loved me best.
We always danced, cheek to cheek.

He replied with nothing but a nod and a yes.
I’m sure it was true.
But if he felt as lovers do,
then why do you sit and cry by the creek?

I don’t know-damn.
He must have made me weak.

Still, he said, the heart must beat.