I Miss YouIt's horrible to say thatMy only way of expressing myselfIs toSing or to writeSongs which seem to have no meaning forYouOr me because history reads there is noUs
Through Your EyesIt was through your eyes that I was able to see,The dark, the light, the grey in-between.Although you only see in black and white,I know that your heart and mind are set right.You wish to run, to explore the world,But without us to return to, in a ball you are curled.Without your ever joyful presence I fear,That I will be losing something very dear:A soul that knows no evil,A mind ever eager,A tail which is never motionless,A friend, who is always there.When I speak my fears aloud,By you, my mind unclouded.So never run away,Don't leave me here astray.
Spring has sprungScent of flowers everywhereOne cannot help but stareFor the beauty surrounds us soAs another season comes and goesTightly coiled for so longBut here we areSpring has sprung
PoetreeNOTE: The poem should have the shape of a tree. If it looks messy, your monitor is too narrow. Press "Ctrl" and "-" until it fits into your monitor, or follow the link in the author's comments. Thank you! In darkness sweet I dream I sleep; my fate to wait till time is ripe A tender leaf curled in the seed, an idea that would be freed I dream of bra
The Maxberg ArchaeopteryxI waited in a tiny house without a light or door,That each progressing day was slightly smaller than before,Until I felt the sudden urge to break and struggle free.I came into the world in only natal feathers dressed,Among my likewise siblings in an interwoven nest,Atop a shrub amid a land surrounded by the sea.Each day my father came to us with smaller lives to eat,As slowly I grew larger and my feathers more complete.Along my longest finger formed a broad and glossy wing.With wings to press me forward I could climb an upright wall,And now the nest where I had dwelt was also strangely small,And I could not ignore the larger island's beckoning.My wings had grown sufficient to support my weight in air,And prey could now be chased and won without my father's care.Observing my lagoon-encircled kingdom from above,Another hunger came to me beyond the quest for food,To recreate on my behalf my natal nest and brood,And prove to a companion my deserving of her love.For every
Into the LightThe moon tonight is, simply, a white noteadrift, spinning. It patiently tracks the breezeon the edge of genesis, floating in motes of static. On the surface, it seems at ease. Light filters through oak leaves and coats its thrall, the summer heat's slow weavethrough the river's margins to the throatof the sea. Small fish leap up to teasethe moon tonight. Simply, this white note rotates its body like thread released from reel, alters its position over nodes
October EyesSuch gentle colors drip across your freckled shoulder blades.A quilt of puddled watercolors soaked in auburn shades.Spun of golden rivulets and rinsed in autumn skies,So many endless currents swimming through your lonesome eyes.Brushing under fingertips and over shattered songs,Unraveling like morning glaze against my paling palms.With beauty like October hills and hollow as the skies,The water drops against the earth will be our lullaby.
My EnglandI care not for neon lightsor garish 'stylish' clothes t' buy,I only want the sun t' shinein fair o' pleasant England.I care not for new Ipadsor nipping out to take a drag,I only want t' grab a bagand hike in my own England.Plastic smiles and distant hugsI think for now I've had enough,I only want the land I lovethe moors and woods of England.Silver bark and golden leavesBirds sing soar in autumn breeze,I only want the grasses greenin glowing dusk of England.Now I'm old and still I sighat admirals red and foxgloves high.Yes, I feel there's no place likemy homey fields of England.
WinterThe old man smiles through clear blue eyesand skies embracing fertile cloudsexpectant with fractal flake children.He doffs his hat of hazy mistfor geriatric trees, bald headsdisplaying their crinkled-wood wisdom.One hand adjusts his bare-earth tweedto smooth the frost on collar hillsand straighten a river-ice necktie.He wanders, smiling at his worldunfurled in tasteful winter shadesnow painted on seasonal canvas.
Four Times A YearSeasons changeFour times a yearSome bringing joyOthers tearsBut whilst the wind may turn to rainThe colours of Autumn are here once again