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What awaits Tomorrow?
I know not so.
The air I breath smells of Today
With little hints of Yesterday.

What awaits Tomorrow?
Forgive me so.
A crystal ball myself does lack.
The future lies in shades of black.

What awaits Tomorrow?
(Dear Sir) I beg you so.
I say again I know not so.
I pray you please beseech me not,
You ask of me a trick of God.
I am surrounded by yesterday.
Shadows from the past will never go away.
You had once cut your skin and let me in.
Forever your silhouette will linger herein.

You were so alive i felt like a ghost.
There were many doors but your door was the only one i needed the most.
To walk through to find a new world.
Where i could fight my fears so cold.

Thank you...

Thank you for yesterday...
For letting me stay...
For letting me touching your face...
For letting me taste a sip of your peace...
For her
Let me take you into the rains which stream into my heart
Show you the lightning flashing in my veins
You can listen to the thunder as we stand a world apart
Then I will bring you inside me
To remain

Inside of me you will find the silence of hills and valleys
Places you can wander in peaceful bliss
But you will still see that lightning flashing wildly
Hear crashing thunder in the magic
Of my kiss

You can tell me about the rains that stream into your heart
Show me the rocky mountains in your eyes
Together we will stand watching rain clouds part
As the lightening in our veins
Paints our skies

Take me inside of you so I can climb your mountains
The very thought brings me peaceful bliss
Together we will seek to fill love’s own fountain
With the rain in our hearts'
Streaming kiss
Copyright *Neva Flores @2011
www.changefulstormpoetry.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm
it
takes
a lot of
desperation
dissatisfaction
and
disillusion
to
write
a
few
good
poems.
it's not
for
everybody
either to
write
it
or even to
read
it.
There was an Old Man who said, 'Well!
Will nobody answer this bell?
I have pulled day and night,
Till my hair has grown white,
But nobody answers this bell!'
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.

— The End —