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
Yellow SpringIt came in tasteful gestures on a shouldered backward breeze.Ghosts of smiling children rocked the rusting set of swings.Plucking yellow daisy tops, in streams the stones did sink.While birds of cream and navy rode above a gust of pink.The sun rays pressed their fingers through the isle of cobwebbed clouds.Spitting shafts of sunlight lift the humming branches' sound.The sipping of the soil weaned as dewdrops fell in threes.In this brutte of cradled roots I lay beneath the trees.
Not ForgottenBe peaceful, sleeping dragon, and sleep well,And may your slumber bring you pleasant dreams.Reality is harsher than it seems,But dreaming visions do not have to tellThat when you go to sleep tonight you never shall arise.The downy quilt of ash will keep you warm,And also grant you rest without an end,Your silence from the eons to defend,And perfectly preserve your sleeping form,So you are not forgotten, for your shut-forever eyes.Take heart, devoted parent, guard your nest,And may your care protect it from the storm.Be steadfast as you watch the land transform,And thus is your fidelity expressed,Although your dedication's goal you never shall attain.When rapid flows of sand begins to rise,You still preserve your unborn progeny,As you are joined with them eternally,Recording what your honor must comprise,So you are not forgotten, though your nurture was in vain.Be bold, courageous hunter, seek your prey,Although it is a dark and stormy night,And on the sliding hill
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
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.
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
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.
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