In the chill of the mist
we walk on the almost deserted way.

I have little to say
being filled with her beside me
and she breathes the wind in
as our lonely world spins.

Sometimes we touch as we walk
prompting her to look at me
with a veiled smile across her face
when the walk seems sweeter than happiness.

The date trees are brimming with juice, she says
the pots will be filled in no time, I affirm,
some farther and we will be there.

Something akin to love
brews with the nectar.

we are all missing pieces
of ourselves, cold,
and missing pieces
of the bigger story, untold.
how do we pay homage to these,
free them to unfold?
and welcome them,
bold.

Pessoa sat on a bench
ready for the rain's stench
hands in his pocket
an empty, empty wallet

time is shredding senses
the mysterious coat avenges
last from a group of friends
wounded and the fog doesn't mend

Pessoa sat on a bench
taking the rain's stench
his jaw to the clench
busy streets cobble French

black hat with a tight ridge
where all curious minds hid
door slams, droplets dance
it's a trance

Pessoa sat on a bench
defend yourself, defend
passersby still know, no tend
a pity look, a petty spell
want to buy?
would he sell?

smiles wasted wry
tickled waists to the clutched hand-holding lie
not to him, he's to die
shadow pointless, out of time

Pessoa sits, demeanor stands
umbrella steady by left hand
a soaked problem with no name
down the cliff behind him, letters rain

                                                           ­                                ------ravenfeels

there in the land of the wind
the grass would like to be as tall as you
the salt of the earth would be ringing,
resonant with the laughter of tears
perhaps everything we are
has to conceive a symbolic death
to deliver ourselves

in the embryo of words there is
such a gentleness, a true prophecy:
language would begin to forget itself
we meet in this language without words
like two beings from the end of the world

Action speaks louder than words
I beg to differ
Ideas start out as words
They work in tandem
For every old and new cliche
Words have been my friends my entire life
A great comfort and a redirection
An amazing friend even now
We create and craft with them
They have taken me to heights I never imagined
Yet,The Power of Words
Eternally grateful of time and understanding
An overly sensitive and sometimes creative me
With the Power of Words

When you’re alone,
Or with others,
Enjoy the poems
Between these covers.

Poems of love and hope,
Praise and pride,
The times we laughed,
The times we cried.

Through the years,
From birth till now,
We grew in number,
And thrived somehow.

Your natural talents
And acquired skills,
Fill my pages
With timely thrills.

You weren’t entitled,
You didn’t squander,
You earned the prizes
For your endeavours.

Read now how it came together.