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If a song doesn't touch
you as the wind
in a breathe of dawn,
if a song doesn't bring
you to tears, if a song
doesn't make you want to
float across the water as the
glide of the wings of a seagull
against and with the sea,
if a song doesn't make you
want to dance in the starlight rain,
to close your eyes and hear the
leaves shivering to the light
of the sun in the secret garden
of soul, then what is the reason
of a song?
Life is a beautiful emotional symphony.
A tapestry of exquisitely arranged chords of truth,
melodies of blue.
All orchestrated and arranged in a stunning range of love,
and a lasting stanza, encompassing all that is unknown..
I hope your melody walks with you gracefully all your life.
May it softly serenade you when you believe all hope has vanished,
and offer you healing, always remaining by your side,
whispering to you endlessly, from dusk till dawn.

-Rhia Clay
Maria May 22
I dreamt of our house, which doesn't exist...
I'll light a candle in it and greet the dawn.
I'll feel sad by candlelight. I'll be missed.
I want you'll be near me in our house for long!

I'll walk into the garden, which doesn't exist...
I'll pick white camomiles and make a bunch.
I'll put it on the table. It'll be my feast.
Just fly into my dream! I please you much!

We'll stroll in a forest, which doesn't exist...
I'll mass there an armfull of autumn leaves.
I'll throw them into the sky. They'll be a mist.
And they'll be falling slowly under the breeze.

I dreamt of our house.  And maybe is it?
It's somewhere over the hill, green all.
The garden is so very overgrown. I'll revive it.
I'll light the candle for you to come for all.
I love my dreams. Sometimes I even want to go back to my dreams. Sometimes I do. The magic of the night, the magic of dream, the possibility to dream, to be sad, to suffer without barriers and taboos...
Thank you very much for reading this poem! đź’–
minisha Apr 27
Whispers of gold adorn your visage,
but why do they hide your facade?
The orange skies are calling your name,
but you're too vague to gaze the glade.
The dawn lifts your veil,
for you long to be caressed by the sun,
but as the covetous twilight blinks,
you shy away from the world.
Vitæ Apr 27
The sun leaps
into responsibility

freshly pressed and dripping
another delectable day

into me.
Though sleep knows

and has always known—
I am still not ready.

Under a spell
of honeyed flowers,

I have dissolved
into the dew of night,

limbs disguised
under a river of silk,

stitched together
with the same spider

that spun the night
I spun myself in.

I know better than
to stay in this cocoon,

untwined enough
to slip one foot

into the hyacinth breeze
and unthread a hundred dreams

from heavy eyes.
What keeps me occupied is

to finish the day that has
yet to begin,

to bat the unease out of
creased pillows

and shake the fears too,
so all dust surrenders

to the peace
between everything.

I let my shadows dance
on porcelain walls

and into
the infinite window,

where the oldest light
that silently lights

the distant meadow fields,
lights the cracks of this room

and waits—

and continues to wait
for me.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep.”

“A Great Wagon” by Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
isaiah barber Apr 22
The dark has come
Take heed this charge
As we stand our ground
The sun shall come

The dark has come
Look to your brothers
Sisters and daughters
The night is young

The dark has come
Tis not the end
We shall not break
Naught but might

Look to the horizon
This is not the end
Lift up your swords
With shield and strength

This path we're on
Twill not be out end
Let our tale be sung
Echo across the hills

Naught but might
We fight tonight
As shadow comes
For all of us

The dark has come
Let not this be
A fading memory
Standing our ground

Our journey made
Paved in blood
Tears of many
This is our history

The curse of mankind
Twill never be so kind
Still, we look to the sun
For the dark has come

Look for the dawn
For the night is long
And we shall see the sun
The battle has only begun
Driven blindly
By a harsh dawn
Bruised and Battered
Bleeding and Torn

Showing up isn't easy
Nor a breakthrough
Of hearts beating
Being True

© Debra Lea Ryan
20.04.2025
Preview of a few verses of a new song @ You Tube >  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNfkpl1GXlc < inspired to write how I feel without being so obvious.  An emotional level.  Thank You Hello Poetry Community for inspiring me!  Metaphors N Analogy! Ha! Ja!
Lance Remir Apr 2
What were you thinking about
The night before?

Did you hold me as we slept
To memorized the touch?

Did you look at me
To remember my features?

When you said goodnight
Was that a prelude to goodbye?

Was the night before
The last time you loved me?

What were you thinking about
As you kissed me goodnight?

Was that kiss
The last we'd ever shared?

Were you thinking about
Our final night together?

Did you feel my heartbeat
Felt it whole before breaking it?

The night before
Were you mine?

The night before
Did you wish it was different?

Did you look at the clock
To count the last hours of us?

Did you feel asleep
Still thinking of me?

What were you thinking of
The night before?

What were you thinking of
Before you whispered "no more"?

Did you wait all night
For the sight of dawn?

Did you dream instead
That it would never end?

What were you thinking of
As you saw my resting eyes?

What were you thinking of
As you cried for the last time?

The night before
You said goodbye
aAr Mar 1
Basking in the hazy dawn
staring at the dwindling moon.
Each passing second warmer than the previous.
The stars in the garden gently rise, tintless in the mist.
Surrounding as still as an isle in the ocean.
Soon at the demise of this silence
chaos of the chirping birds will prevail.
All these moments will permeate any heart with glee.
Then why is this heart drenched in sorrow
like the lines of an elegy?

Maybe its because witnessing the break of a new day
solidifies the yesterday that she let slip away
Maybe the roses in the mist appear gray
as an echo of her own bleak existence.
Maybe the silence irked a forlorn ego
her distorted mind kept at bay.
Maybe the blurry sight weighs her heart down
as it resembles the image of her future she pictured.
Maybe all these moments makes her ruminate
about the memories the merciless time marred.
wide awake at dawn w serene melancholy
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