Sep 2017
In this chapter,
I’ve met you.
For these words
Will become yours
as I write this poem into you.
You say that peace is your favourite word
But darling in this world,
Peace is in the eyes of you,
My sunshine.
You remind me of
flowers and the sun;
how they yearn to be together,
So full of warmth and happiness.
To soak in your warmth
Is like being in a home
that I’ve never had.
peace is the silence
when you and I sit together.
a silence as comforting
as reading Mitch Albom
on a quiet rainy evening.
And in those moments
When you smile ,
My heart flutters.
Just like the spring birds
Awaiting for the arrival
and affection from the morning sun.
And in this chapter,
I’ve found you.
Your soul,
As bright and genuine
as the moonlight
That glistens through
the storms no matter what.
I write this to you
In hopes of conveying
That the sun will always love
The moon brightly
And so shall I,
for you are my love.
I’ve met you.
For these words
Will become yours
as I write this poem into you.
You say that peace is your favourite word
But darling in this world,
Peace is in the eyes of you,
My sunshine.
You remind me of
flowers and the sun;
how they yearn to be together,
So full of warmth and happiness.
To soak in your warmth
Is like being in a home
that I’ve never had.
peace is the silence
when you and I sit together.
a silence as comforting
as reading Mitch Albom
on a quiet rainy evening.
And in those moments
When you smile ,
My heart flutters.
Just like the spring birds
Awaiting for the arrival
and affection from the morning sun.
And in this chapter,
I’ve found you.
Your soul,
As bright and genuine
as the moonlight
That glistens through
the storms no matter what.
I write this to you
In hopes of conveying
That the sun will always love
The moon brightly
And so shall I,
for you are my love.
"I am not an open book.
The hardness of my cover and the complexity of my contents were not designed for weak fingertips and feeble minds. I have been opened once or twice. My spine stroked by flimsy hands, held with a broken focus, my pages slightly skimmed through, only to be put down mid-sentence. I have yet be placed in the gentle care of a reader that doesn’t mind that my chapters are often cut short, my edges sharp and my pages loose; one with the intent to finish.
I have begun to find solace in my own story, comfort in between the lines and a curious fascination for the pages still blank.
I only pray that one day, my sentences will leave traces of ink on the heart strong enough to comprehend them and I am no longer taken out of context."
for you, danish. **
The hardness of my cover and the complexity of my contents were not designed for weak fingertips and feeble minds. I have been opened once or twice. My spine stroked by flimsy hands, held with a broken focus, my pages slightly skimmed through, only to be put down mid-sentence. I have yet be placed in the gentle care of a reader that doesn’t mind that my chapters are often cut short, my edges sharp and my pages loose; one with the intent to finish.
I have begun to find solace in my own story, comfort in between the lines and a curious fascination for the pages still blank.
I only pray that one day, my sentences will leave traces of ink on the heart strong enough to comprehend them and I am no longer taken out of context."
for you, danish. **
