I wish to be that beauty you speak of- angelic yet demure, which I am not. The mirror shows me less than your eyes see
Moments passed. She spread her hands, arms outstretched. A helpless gesture of excuse me, what can I do?
Words collapse on tongues-- wicker baskets of water-- without poetry.
Hand in hand. Quiet footsteps that didn’t break the silence. She looked up at me and smiled.
I don’t think I can ever stop myself anyway So, I wave my hand as we drift away Your back turned toward me as I watch you fade Oblivious. Yet that's for the better.
Lost in my own world of pop after eight hour drudgery Completely dead to the fact that the shout of "Let There Be…" is sounding
The wanderer moves on, Leaving behind the burnt up logs Few morsels of uneaten tasteless food
It hurts sometimes How much I love you
I need you next to me To feel the warmth I want to touch you I want to hold you again
And so my friend you now comprehend why writing is a track where the end spells lack. Like a metronome’s pendulum poetry is a medium that keeps me going down this track and coming back!
But even if her gaze was just as fuzzy as his She can still see How wonderful he is His face His grace His smile His dimples His mannerisms
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