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AmyIrbyPoems
My heart feels  warmer when you are around.     Not quite a fire, more like the gentle warmth     of the spring sun     melting into my skin.     pleasant and peaceful,     I close my lids and could believe     for a moment, there is     no enmity in the world.          Your movements are strange;     fluttering hands and slow,     nearly stomping strides.     And sometimes, you sprint     in parking lots.     It's dire to get somewhere!   But you usually get about     six feet then stop.               Your presence  is  mighty.          So mighty that many times I can     Know your feelings     when words fail you.     But your words are not always easy to read.     When you're in a closet,     a scream only tells me where     you are, not how to get to you.          Small children, tucked in beds a bunk.     The clouds' tears would patter on the windows     and angrily bang pots and pans.     But the clouds did not wake me.     I woke to the feeling of small,     cold hands and feet, wriggling their     way under my blanket in the top bunk.     I'd meet the gaze of little tear filled     eyes, then watch them close waiting     for them to dream again.                 You have my blood, my eyes, my promise to be present.     And without doubt, you lovingly robbed my heart.     Any stranger could see you smile,     and hear you chuckle, and you     would steal theirs too.     No, they would give it to you.     How could you not give your heart     to the source of its warmth.
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Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
You Warm Me
My heart feels  warmer when you are around.     Not quite a fire, more like the gentle warmth     of the spring sun     melting into my skin.     pleasant and peaceful,     I close my lids and could believe     for a moment, there is     no enmity in the world.          Your movements are strange;     fluttering hands and slow,     nearly stomping strides.     And sometimes, you sprint     in parking lots.     It's dire to get somewhere!   But you usually get about     six feet then stop.               Your presence  is  mighty.          So mighty that many times I can     Know your feelings     when words fail you.     But your words are not always easy to read.     When you're in a closet,     a scream only tells me where     you are, not how to get to you.          Small children, tucked in beds a bunk.     The clouds' tears would patter on the windows     and angrily bang pots and pans.     But the clouds did not wake me.     I woke to the feeling of small,     cold hands and feet, wriggling their     way under my blanket in the top bunk.     I'd meet the gaze of little tear filled     eyes, then watch them close waiting     for them to dream again.                 You have my blood, my eyes, my promise to be present.     And without doubt, you lovingly robbed my heart.     Any stranger could see you smile,     and hear you chuckle, and you     would steal theirs too.     No, they would give it to you.     How could you not give your heart     to the source of its warmth.
- this was for my younger brother Thanks so much for reading friend
AmyIrby
Written by
AmyIrby
27/F/American
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
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