Seconds become hours with her,
Moments treasured in the safety of memory,
Her presense seeds a sense of security,
And her very touch entwines a bond of emotion,
Like soft autumn, her hair falls like willow branches,
Which lay in the pending snowy blanket of her skin,
A lunar cycle may pass,
But a viewer would have only taken in a small amount of her beauty,
Unlike myself, who sees her for who she really is:
Past the eternal and ageless beauty,
Is a hollow cavern of emptiness,
Carved out by the chizzels of heart-breakers and love-leavers,
What she does not realise though,
Is that her brokeness can be mended,
And her hollow heart filled with nourishing love,
By my tender and patient presense,
For what is a plant without soil for stability?
Let her root her pain in my skin,
So she may blossom for the coming spring,
And walk with me into the following summer
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
Seconds become hours with her,
Moments treasured in the safety of memory,
Her presense seeds a sense of security,
And her very touch entwines a bond of emotion,
Like soft autumn, her hair falls like willow branches,
Which lay in the pending snowy blanket of her skin,
A lunar cycle may pass,
But a viewer would have only taken in a small amount of her beauty,
Unlike myself, who sees her for who she really is:
Past the eternal and ageless beauty,
Is a hollow cavern of emptiness,
Carved out by the chizzels of heart-breakers and love-leavers,
What she does not realise though,
Is that her brokeness can be mended,
And her hollow heart filled with nourishing love,
By my tender and patient presense,
For what is a plant without soil for stability?
Let her root her pain in my skin,
So she may blossom for the coming spring,
And walk with me into the following summer
