The voice that says so many things,
The voice that rings,
Deep in your heart,
And with each sound,
Gives you a ‘start’,
The voice that’s only Poetry,
When it says softly,
‘I love thee’,
The Voice, The Voice,
How can it be?
That Voice is what,
Gives life to me.
Similar Posts
A poem
SometimesMeans a lotIt’s like,An inner fightThat means so much,The deep questioningThat wants to come on outThat wants to knowWhat is and what is notThe truth!Above all the sullen rot,It also, sometimes isThe total intimacyOf a poet’s lifeThat sometimesBleeds and cries,And only occasionally,Will slightly smile.
How do you remain
In an insaneWorld,How do you cultivateDreams,When they’ve all beenBlurred,Where do you findThe strengthTo go on,When all is so absurdAll Truth and DecencyGone!Nothing said, nothing heardCan ever bring back,The innocence and hope,Of those who once believed,In a Better World.
Lost
Empty handedI will leaveLife’s sound.Love,A Swan,So white, so deepSo pure!It totally escapedImmaculate, untouched,Love’s holy Ground.
I know you’re not coming back,
Like the day is long,And the night is black,And it hurts,Like the cavernous black holeOf a star that died,Leaving behind,No luminous track.So, I’m feeling black,Black like an endless cave,With no heart,Where blind bats gather,Seeing not,The sign of mourning,The forever, Black,Left by your departureAs the day is long,And the future, black.
Flat,
Or an outdoor mat,Indifference sets in,A moody spat with yourself,Hardly reacts,Nothing seems to count,Except disillusionment,And you don’t want to accept,The realization that,Nothing or no one to love,Projects a transparent image,Of emptiness,That you can’t pick up.
Delicately simple,
Adorn,A page,In worded colorsAs their stage.A poem,SimpleOpens its Life’s cage,And like a monarchButterfly,Liberated from cocoon,A whole new World begins,Believe it or not,But it’s likeTraveling to the MoonOn Poet’s Wings.