Oh, but those who feel like the wind!
How lovely they are.
How very lovely.
Categories
Tag: Soul
Categories
The Lonely Soul
The lonely soul
is a beauty.
She is quiet,
so quiet
as she whispers her way
through the noise,
through the dark,
through the rain.
Sing a sweet song to her.
Call to her
and she shall hand you
a soft and thoughtful dream.
Categories
How Is A Rose To Grow?
A rose to meet the morning bright,
to grow in cheer,
to gather life.
Yet day to day
the rose does wither,
day to day the rose does wither,
lost
beneath the foggy dreary.
Lost.
Beneath.
How is a rose to gather
honey sweet
from deep blue trees?
How is a rose to grow
in the dark
of uncaring
life?
How is a rose to grow?
Categories
I Became The Sky
I could have stared at the sky for hours.
It was glowing.
Grey and orange; still against the crashing sea.
But it wasn’t the vision of the sunset that moved me.
It was the feel of it
within me.
So calm, I became the sky.
Peaceful.
Still.
And quietly waiting
for nothing at all.
Categories
Beyond It All
I will always be here.
Feeling this depth of life,
remembering how much I have loved
and lost
and never regretted a moment.
Life has never attacked me,
though I’ve been broken by its force
many a time.
I try to remember:
on the other side of fear and pain,
there lives love.
Always, there lives love.
And my goodness.
I have loved.
Darling.
I have loved beyond it all.
Categories
The Sound Of Night
My body is alive
with the sound of night.
How I hunger for this bliss.
How the melody of a simple tune
makes love to my senses,
and I am whole
like the wind,
like the sun,
like love.
Hold my heart, dear music.
Let me float in the clouds,
on the sweetest of tunes;
let me hold this feeling, still,
while the moon wraps around me.
Sing it again, sweet Angel.
Evermore is the breath
of this beautiful, beautiful song.
Categories
Just A Rose
A rose is just a rose
to those who choose
not to know her.
This silence
is the cloud I fall upon
when I don’t know where to fly.
How beautiful
just to float.
Here.
Now.
Eternally.
Sometimes
I feel five.
Like the world is big
and I am small.
And there are kids all around
bigger than me,
louder,
scarier,
bolder than this softness
that folds me
like tissue.
(No one else folds like tissue.
Just me.)
The softness of me at five
lingers;
a scent
(like lavender)
on the breeze
of my soul.
The softness of me.
The softness of me.
