Facing the sun, it hurts my eyelids
So I gaze at my shadow on the floor
It has no idea about my fears,
It's casting and it's pointing to the door
My elbow digs and hurts my knees
As my chin gets heavier in my palm
I'll go outside to catch the breeze
It will sooth my soul,it feels like balm
The autumn leaves will dance around
They lift my spirits,they show me how
Nothing now, would hold me down,
Nature is mighty, to it I bow!
Friends are our WiFi connection to life,
An ATM card in need,
A key that turns our sorrow into a smile,
A balm for our pain,
A moisturiser for our success,
Guardians of our secrets,
A rocking partner , a soulmate.
The foundation of a good marriage is friendship.
A friend in need is a friend indeed.
"Clouds of Thought"
The muse arrives with familiar ease
And illumines the realm of inner view.
Quietly births a soulful breeze
Forms clouds of thought in purest hue.
How lifted do I tread and plod,
Humble receptacle, servant of God.
Each mortal frame a joy contains
That soothes the soul and heart to find.
A healing balm for worldly pains
A heavenly cleft from beastly mind.
Oh, how honored do we tread and plod,
Humble receptacles, servants of God.
needed a home
loves to play
brings her toys
brings such joy
to hurting hearts
a balm to us
fills that place
Cynthia Jean 2017
what a gift and blessing our Lydia has been for the past year....a perfect gift from God.
in a radical way
Take a risk
a leap of Faith
Dare to reach out
and touch my
and my broken heart
with the healing balm
of your sweet lips
© Michael Lechner
Every ounce of pressure against my veins,
like the flood of heavy summer rains.
Trying to escape the coating of my flesh,
internal tensions I could not oppress.
I hear crickets, smell the morning dew.
All I can ever concentrate on is you.
Made to feel nervous but oh so calm,
sometimes even sweet like cherry lip balm.
A moment of combustion then release,
your tongue wanders onto my body, into a crease.
I'll never care if I get rich,
so ever long as you ease my twitch.
Stale smoke and the scent of butane,
breath seeps into me like a bloodstain.
You, a child at heart
and I, a freak into abstract art, like Ad Reinhardt.
What a fine creation, our own constellation,
an innovation, better than intoxication.
must be like
being embraced by
the several loving arms of strangers
all that love
for all the places
have hurt you
-The north winds whistling through the eaves
-Your gritty mumblings in deep sleep
-The rain hitting the bedroom window
-Blown derbies upon the panes
These things brew an ointment,
which I will rub into my soul for eternity.
poetry, you comforting solace!
balm, on the chapped lips of cracked hearts,
soothing salve on the conscience of guilt
struggling, you find a space for yourself to snuggle in, hide and cry! :)