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Painting between the Rainfall
Searching through prysmic eyes
for words which define the moments
standing between yesterday and tomorrow
The literal has become
what so often has been,
the poet's choice of forever,
sandpaper walls surround the silent one
searching for a place to lean
searching for a soul to glean,
searching for a way to clean
the emptiness that fills her
Desperately the words take shape
in their silent surroundings
the heart's gentle poundings
it's search for understanding
in the midst of life undone
Letters roll, they are the hills
in distance
journeys seek them far from done
but have yet begun
Reader, do you hear me?
standing before your skies,
soft fragrance of souls
you've barely known
of roses too, and ashphalt burning...
I am silence...darkness, I am kisses yearning
what is the poet? what is the friend?
do the words shaping between them
forsee their end?
Click on the title you want
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