Who paints the world with sunshine
and whispers louder
that which matters,
with whirling streaks of hope?
When I am spinning round
with speaking eyes
for unexpected hours.
Feeling alone………..
as an unspeaking ghost.
I wait with a passion
and a fire inside.
Lit by a precious brilliance
with a smile of wonder
on my face.
Until your light paints my hands
which ache……
my heart beats to claim
your ever saving grace.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Who paints the world with sunshine
and whispers louder
that which matters,
with whirling streaks of hope?
When I am spinning round
with speaking eyes
for unexpected hours.
Feeling alone………..
as an unspeaking ghost.
I wait with a passion
and a fire inside.
Lit by a precious brilliance
with a smile of wonder
on my face.
Until your light paints my hands
which ache……
my heart beats to claim
your ever saving grace.
Copyright @2015 - Neva Flores Smith - Changefulstorm
Request permission to use this poem