Do not try to wrap me
with your perfect edges.
Boxes are not for me,
the wind,
the stars that burst
through time,
through space,
through you.
I am all.
Do not limit me
with your unknowing.
Tag: Dreamer
I’m on holidays in the middle of nowhere.
I have books.
I have my computer.
I have a heart that wishes for silence and the soft smiles of love.
I will sip some tea and close my eyes.
But I am the wind.
And my soul is alone
as it blows through the jars
of neat and tidy life.
Oh, the aching.
For, home floats free;
I will never be bound.
Can you not see?
I will never be bound.
And my heart cries,
lonely.
My heart cries.
Lonely.
She fled her body, to where the poets fly.
Her heart lived in that place,
an angel by night light.
There were feathers on the wind of day,
and music, like a lovers kiss, drifting.
Oh, how she loved, there.
Oh, how she loved.
And how she missed that beautiful whisper
when down to earth
she fell.
Categories
Dream
Always remember your softness.
Always remember to wrap your gifts
and hand them to the world, carefully.
For, my dear, my darling
you.
Only you
can paint the world
the colour of your dreams.
Go on, sweet bloggy friends.
Catch your butterfly.
xx Brooke
Categories
The Ocean
It never ceases to amaze,
the ocean of life;
how wide it must be.
If I can see but one river
from this, my dainty hill.
One glimpse of time,
one slice of space,
what else must the ocean be?
Categories
Sweet Muse of Mine
Where do you go, sweet bell?
Where do you hide
when I long to feel your voice
sing through my bones?
I only know you;
the place I call home.
I only know you, dear constant voice
of heart,
of soul,
of love.
Oh.
But here you are again, little bird.
Here you are with the words I have missed,
the song I have so wished to hear on the wind.
Stay a while.
Please stay a while, sweet muse of mine.
In waking dreams I see the past
and feel it waltzing me
down a sweet, sweet road.
Oh, darling days gone by.
How lovely to feel you tickle my bones.
How lovely to remember the depths
that sang to my aching soul.
Always, I will remember the nectar
of those darling days.
Never again will their shadow
remain hidden
by choice.
My
soul
knows
this
song.
Categories
Tomorrow’s Rose
How delicate it is, the garden of eternity.
Interwoven; the past, present, future
of our sleepy meadow, dear.
One cannot possibly know how
or what
the wind of today will drift to the valley
of tomorrow.
One can only hope to gather roses in arms
and lay them down, admired.
But what of tomorrow?
A dried rose is surely a beauty.
A delight preserved from time gone by.
Take these roses, fine.
Take this heart
and scatter my soul freely
into the arms of the dreamers, next.
Tomorrow’s rose.
Today’s quiet and careful sun.
brooke-cutler.com 