A pulse could hush the feel of skin
as it runs peaceful, always on the move.
There is an inside outside
need to breathe,
frequent release,
from all that’s smooth.

There is one in every shade,
wafting through dreams of joy and fear, not taken.
In a playground where you can’t see,
how the eyes of truth
exhale a sacredness,
unshaken.

Serenity weeps
as it looks upon the waves
that pull you in without chains.
While an echo finds contentment
on the lips of imagination,
gone insane.

On the beaches of your mind
you have wings,
playing the lead role of a play.
Would I known the wars-a-waging there,
I wouldn’t have fed passion,
a single day.
Neva Varga -Copyright @2018 Changefulstorm Poetry - 11/05/18
Show me home in your eyes of fire
while still setting me free
to cross those bridges
I may burn.
Allow what we have to rest
in quiet happiness
of all the unknown ways
we can learn.

Exhale above me with lips
with no selfishness
and an intimacy I can see
without searching.  
Exhaust my inner urges
with your ink and paper
while I soar within
my yearning.

Pen me poetry that cries out
to be the lyrics,
all the pieces of my heart
learn how to sing.
Turn the key to the lock
of beautiful phrases,
draw me a fine portrait with
your word strings.
Copyright Neva Varga @ 10/15/18 - Changefulstorm Poetry
Is it even possible to contemplate a sea of promises unfolding petal by petal like an open book made of glass?  If I saw my world as a heartbeat would tonight be different than the flight of my past?

Why should everything dwell among a skin of silent beauty while the fire waits for meaning from a grain of sand?  Is it because our eyes lack hearts that sing to the butterflies as they arrive and land?

Should I hide behind the universe of whispering trees and brush my hands across the doors that keep me wishing? Until, I wonder if I’ll run out of rhymes if I part myself from my inner beauty misting.

I have secrets I hear laughing full of words that speak to me as a lion knocks down the door of breaking all the rules.  Still, I want to touch the glory of solitude’s lovely face and dance with mischief’s fool.
Copyright @2018 Neva Varga 10/01/18 - Changefulstorm Poetry
A touch we took, because each breath we wore, whispered yes, inside the searching.  So, we circled all our pride with warmth of reason, so we could keep from hurting.

We both smiled at those clouds of divine truth, spinning backwards as they dispensed.  Since an appetite for silence, fueled the moon and stars in this world, as our defense.

One storm caught a kiss we thought had touched the ground of breathtaking rivers to the sea. Yet, neither of us cried out in fear or yearned to fill the empty space, left for free.
Neva Flores Varga Copyright@09/17/18 - Changefulstorm Poetry
Drifting in the folds of a spark you come
as a splash of cold water
in my face. Appears, I underestimated,
how hot those feelings race.

Have I been walking on a path without alarm,
while the forest descends on me?
Do my toes point me to a smile,
peace can never see?

What is this that springs from every breath I take,
as a spark ignites a flame?
    Why do I see it shaking hands,
in shades of red the same?
Copyright @09/15/18 - Neva Varga - Changefulstorm Poetry
Encased castles wouldn’t hear
what might have been
or a promise of immediate loss.  
When thank you becomes like raindrops
falling from the cost.

So I will say
the sun forever rises
because it was torn away
from the bones of an amber moon.
Until the day my face is woven
into what is mine, just not too soon.

Just think about what you do
when you want to be alone,
of course not because
you are broken.  
Let it go and become framed
with the tears of a family unspoken.

Reflect what is understood
and let it go
like a language of chills
contained in every second of surprise.
Then thunder from those encased castles
can be seen in my eyes.
Copyright @2015 - Neva Flores Varga-Changefulstorm
When we look at what is already spoken,
the words cannot live
if contained.
Hope becomes all we want
as our souls become awake
in air unstained.  

If we stop and count the words
they become elusive
and still hours later
we remain unconscious.  As if we are asleep
exhaling each fragment
unresponsive.

Can we wear our heart on the sleeve
of our emotions
to keep our body warm and moving?  
When do we realize
where the point of here
is beyond that which is soothing?

If we talk about that which we love
giving our full attention
to each dream as it exists.
Would our laughter
become a shade of secrets
or a storm of words wrapped as a gift?
Copyright @2015 - Neva Varga - Changefulstorm
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