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thoughts left behind me
like so many scatter'd leaves
thoughts I can't forget
The Poet

Words of beauty grace the page
and images spring to bloom
Tenderness, heartbreak, rage –
sunshine bright or shadows darkly loom.

Such is the world of the Wordsmith;
of the poet’s heart, within.
The scent of apple blossoms with
the brisk zephyr for it’s kin.

The poet reaches to impart
the fitting metaphor
to open up the heart
as one might open up a door.

His bag of tricks, near magical,
his words ring clear and fine
to sing the world a madrigal
with the taste of summer wine.

Later in the evening
even the poet takes his pause
and an aging hand picks up the pen
to further shape his cause.

The body wearies with the years
but the mind stays young, and bold.
For all his laughter and his tears
the poet’s heart does not grow old.

Night has come upon him
as he closes tired eyes
sleep takes him to the rim
of sweet dreams and brighter skies.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
To you…

In the dark dreams that have become my life
you are sunshine and starlight.

For the unreasonable, the unfathomable, the disparities
surmounting daily, you are sanity and reason.

For my silence, you are song.
In my lack of expression, you are music.

My words fade, my world diminishes
and focus affords me only darkness.
You are there, ever aware.
When my world ties me tightly into knots
you see how to loosen them, and weave me fabric.

My heart beats to stale metaphor and abused imagery,
though your words softly sigh, touched with fresh breezes.

I have seen sandy shores, and known the scent of fresh loam,
bursting with the seeds of spring; gentle rains, and the flight of seabirds,
through your eyes - there, within your words.

And when my world falls apart and crumbles beneath my feet
I am caught upon your open palm, within your caring touch.

I am relieved, refreshed, and comfortably happy
in the darkest of times, for you, whose care lifts me up.

There will never be a way to thank you, as I would want.
It is there, in my heart, in the blood that courses through me
All that I am, is all I can give, and I will ever give it willingly
to you.

©Lin Cava
15th March, 2013

— The End —