1952 -    
Darkness is not the absence of light,but the cover for it.
When you feel only darkness or pain or see it in another.
Look beneath this.
There is light there in the Soul.

As water reflects the face,so one's life reflects the heart <3

I am a soul of many faces,sometimes dark and then light reflects my inner soul,coming into being.
My poems all come from within,deep down the words are engraved upon my soul and hidden within my brain.
I cannot stop writing,cause that would be the death of me. I have tried,but the words keep flowing.Only stopping for moments in time.
I shall always be what God intended for me to be.His light shines deep within the shadows that surround me.
Darkness is not the absence of light,but the cover for it.
When you feel only darkness or pain or see it in another.
Look beneath this.
There is light there in the Soul.

As water reflects the face,so one's life reflects the heart <3

I am a soul of many faces,sometimes dark and then light reflects my inner soul,coming into being.
My poems all come from within,deep down the words are engraved upon my soul and hidden within my brain.
I cannot stop writing,cause that would be the death of me. I have tried,but the words keep flowing.Only stopping for moments in time.
I shall always be what God intended for me to be.His light shines deep within the shadows that surround me.
Weeping willow
Weeping willow
12 hours ago

Lost in the footlights
of the thirties and forties
My heart becomes alive
in the music and glamour
of it's time
Tracing my steps through a back door
Only wishing I could
walk through time

In an era of wonderment
Life seemed more simple
Happier than now
Carefree in the music
While waltzing through the thirties
and forties
Dancing through time
Joy sometimes seemed to abound
Dancing to the sounds
of the big band
Music
An era forgotten
with time.

By Weeping willow
(c)2017;-]

Just love the whole era of the thirties and forties.
Wish I could have lived during that time.
Born too late
;-\
Weeping willow
Weeping willow
4 days ago

It's only poets
that see a spark of beauty
in the night
Light within a tiny blade
of grass
Shining under the moon's glow
Inspiring their minds as words
begin to flow
Poets find beauty in the tiniest things
of life
Speaking their minds

Sometimes when sorrow comes knocking
their hearts break
Dragging heavy words through their souls.

By Weeping willow
(c)2017;-\

Poets can find beauty in the oddest places.
;-}

The pen picked a fight with the paper
The four walls looked on in disdain
The pen broke its nib in the caper
But inflicted a horrible stain

The pen lay there battered and broken
The paper had two big black eyes
No words were written or spoken
Which surely should be no surprise

The writer looked downcast and grim
Frustration now welling within
His chair creaked slightly beneath him
His head was beginning to spin

The fly on the wall remained silent
It offered no friendly advice
The scene on the desk had been violent
And the poet was paying the price

-RH-

  4d  Weeping willow
Rose
Rose
Jan 2

•                        fight hatred
                        with kindness,
                         meet loathing
                          with love &
                         when others
                          look down,
keep your sights up above... forgive those
who hurt you, forget those who leave, let
new people in so that you may receive...
                         a hand when
                       you've fallen &
                         a torch when
                           you're lost;
                           friends like
                        these come at
                       almost no cost...
                         all it takes is

                               LOVE

© Rose 2017
Weeping willow
Weeping willow
6 days ago

Translucent like a vapor
you crawl across my mind
Leaving faint images of yourself
behind
Barely seeing you
Drifting in and out
In shadows your face
seems invisible
As your long hair flows
in the night
I feel I know you

In dark  sleep you slowly
dissappear from view
Vague images run through
my mind
As I try to remember you
Feelings flow
As if in a distant life
we we're aquatinted
Somewhere behind the night

Shadows in the early morning light
fall across my eyes
Drifting back into sleep with barely opening
my mind
Every now then
you come visiting
in the night dreams
Where vague translucent things occur inside
my head
Leaving me wondering where I go
when dark sleep is upon
my bed.

By Weeping willow
(c)2017;-\

Strange dreams of a figure of a women,like dancing through my mind.
Only seeing her form and long hair
outlined
;-\

We’d been together so long, it seemed
That nothing could tear us apart,
We lived our lives in a world of dreams
And Barbara lived in my heart,
But frost had covered the window pane
And then it began to snow,
As Barbara turned, with a look of pain
And said, ‘It’s best that you go.’

I didn’t know what she meant at first
As I looked up from my book,
“Go where?’ I questioned, but thought again
As she quelled my heart with a look.
‘I said I want you to leave,’ she cried,
And her face was set in stone,
‘We’ve come to the end of the path,’ she sighed,
‘I want to be left alone.’

Then suddenly all confusion reined
I didn’t know what to say,
Whatever had brought this mood on her,
I wished it would go away.
But she was firm, and she packed my things
And ushered me out the door,
I stood there shivering in the cold
To be back on my own once more.

I found a flat and I camped the night
There was barely a stick or chair,
I’d have to buy all the furniture
To make it a home in there.
But I sat and cried in the empty room
As the question came back, ‘Why?’
I’d loved her so and my heart was torn,
I thought I wanted to die.

I went to her with my questions, but
She slammed the door in my face,
Whatever love she had had for me
Had vanished, without a trace.
It hurt so much that she cut me off
With never so much as a sigh,
I called that all that I wanted was
To tell me the reason, why?

The roses had bloomed so late that year
Were still in the garden bed,
We’d always tended the bush with joy,
We both loved the colour red,
So I snipped one off as I left one day,
And planted it under her door,
To let her know that I loved her still
I didn’t know how to say more.

Her brother called in a week or so,
Said she was in hospital,
She’d gone in just for a minor cure
And thought that he’d better tell.
So I caught the bus and I went on down
With a quaking fear in my heart,
She hadn’t said there was something wrong
Before she tore us apart.

The doctor came in his long white coat,
His brow and his face was grim,
I said, ‘Don’t tell me the news is bad,’
He said, ‘I’m out on a limb.
Your wife just passed from the surgery,
But she pulled, from under her clothes,
And asked if I’d pass this on to you,’
In his hand was a red, red rose.

David Lewis Paget

In the silence of my heart
Holding memories
Each piece chipped
Broken
Tiny fragments of glass falling away
into the winds of yesterday
I see your face in every shard of glass
Breaking into pieces
Falling beneath the earth
Deep within
Where shadows linger
In the stillness there
your face rest within
Waiting for love to begin

Shattered memories of a little one
too sensitive for life
Falling into darkness
before her life is blessed
with light
Deep inside her torn faces
lie memories of broken places
Piercing her heart
Leaving feelings of emptiness
Torn pieces of life
Where brokenness is falling
through her fingers
Leaving tiny fragments behind
Impressions dance within her mind
Leaving specks of light
beside the night
For a better chance at life.

By Weeping willow
(c)2017;-\

Just old memories visiting my mind again;-\
 
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