poem

Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.

Leave me alone,Do me a favor, abandon me,I want to think about,You me and the idea of forever.

Sit here, so I may writeyou into a poem and make you eternal.

For what was it about books that once finished left the reader in a bit of a haze and made them reread the last few sentences in order to continue the ringing in their hearts a while longer, so as not to let the silence illumine the fact that reading, they had gained something _ distance, a lesson, a companion, a new world _ but now, after the last full stop, they had lost something palpable and felt a little emptier than before.

Our contempt for any particular poem must be perfect, be total, because only a ruthless reading that allows us to measure the gap between the actual and the virtual will enable to to experience, if not a genuine poem__o such thing__ place for the genuine, whatever that might mean.

Soft on the neck of either dove love's hands let slip the reins: and while we look for light of love, love's twilight wanes...

Echo of the waves appears in the sky, their lights reflected in your eyes. I'm back in our world and happy again. The sound of your voice, compassionate embrace... The power in your touch, serenity of stride... The beating of your heart calms down my presence, gracing with eternal peace of mind... Bathing in the sunshine of your arms I'm deeply aware of the melodic stream that has no language...gliding beneath the quiet Heaven of your eyes...

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

Infatuated painted clouds, enamored of our silky bed-lagoon, reflect with silent tremors your sweetest of the kisses...whispers...then lightly consume its shining sunset skin with loving smiles greeting the lacy starry night ahead...making our senses dance so softly stepping on to the adorn petals of the place no one else knows...

The serenity of the lulling ocean is a wondrous thing to behold..more precious than the gems coveted and covered in platinum or gold...

You are the Poem I dreamed of writing, the Masterpiece I longed to paint. You are the shining Star I reached for in my ever hopeful quest for life fulfilled. Yes, I am Blessed.

Poetry is a storm asking peace to dance with her.

And someday,when the partiesdon__ dazzle you anymore,and when the alcohol failsto amuse your senses,come to me.We__l lie on the grass,stare at the stars,and talk about Life.Maybe I will become the Momentyou rediscover yourself again.

We are all of lifewho stepped from the seatrading weightless journeys of the currentsWe are all of lifewho build and tear down and build againto find gold and silverto find scars that weep and bleedto step from the seato stay with the sea

Because at nightwhen others are sleeping, I drown myself in poetry.

We are all born as storytellers. Our inner voice tells the first story we ever hear.

If God could transcribe my heart, it'd still read "I love you".

She was a poem and a painting too. Everything she said sounded like a song, every silence was the music too.