Speak of love,
but whisper,
close eyes,
and soothe a heart,
let each vowel find a foothold,
in a trembling lash of wetness.
Speak of love,
but silent,
with a hand upon one cheek,
as memories paint an eyelid,
with something that drifts a smile,
and leaves a pattern traceable.
Speak of love,
but savor,
each sip a dew of thought,
let wide the gates of fancy,
unbridled passion,
ignite a page.
Speak of love,
but whisper,
let each stanza turn to stardust,
as miracles perch dainty,
upon a mind contemplation,
understanding now complete.
Very cognitive, thank you.
That who wrote it possesses light reason and creative nature!
Once upon a time, upon a hill stood a tree
from this beautiful marvel of nature sprouted Bree
She fell to the ground
creating a silent sound
Yes, the landing was quiet
just as is she, though inside she’s a riot
Bree must have walked for a ways
for I found her wandering amidst a flowery maze
In the field of flowers she fit right in
and there was a rose contest I wanted to win
So I reached for her and out I did pick
what many people see as one cool chick!
And even though she came from a quiet land
I often can sense her feelings by the touch of her hand
Lovely poem, thank you for sharing it.
You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I have two more poems of the same genre if you don’t mind me posting them here.
I was going to delete them because if my current girlfriend came across them it could cause some confusion. But after re-reading them I think they’re too good to permanently throw out.
Thats fine.
To start a poem, I sometimes don’t know
But often the words fall, once the ink does flow
Nature is a good way
To create something to say
Now with that in mind
The words will be easy to find
How about a star?
Away, Away, but I’d prefer Bree not be as far
That star is pretty and bright
I’ll keep Bree closer with all of my might
prefer to keep this beauty in plain sight
her mind as free as a kite
Never hitting a brick wall
Like Bree’s, which could be glass and afraid it could fall
That’s okay, not a big deal
I too have a past I’d sometimes not feel
Two lifetimes of pain yet to heal
Open wounds that take eternity to seal
Time will take care, make her feel better
In the meantime, I’ve written this letter
I’d write you a song
A beautiful one, very long
I’d carry your purse
Throw in a verse
I’d brush your hair
Although to my eyes it always looks fair
If tears were to ever visit your eyes
I’d chase them away, or bind them with ties
If upon your face sat a frown
I’d move the Earth to turn it upside down
If I saw a wound upon you exposed to air
I’d treat it gently, wanting to close it with care
If I were a true writer
Trust that my poetry would be much tighter
If this pen would work worth a damn
I wouldn’t feel like stabbing it through a ham
I’d make sweet words to form a book
Then present it so you could take a look
Another period, another end, another last
My poems usually stop pretty fast
This is just beautiful.
Thanks Charles.