Perchance, my shy love,
we can unite passionately
as slumbering magnolias
awaken with the moon's
in the summer gardens.
Fractured pieces of a fairytale lie in front of me.
The broken boy meets the broken girl and they stitch up their pieces while substituting lust instead of love.
We watched the secret gardens bloom and the paths fill with overgrowth that was never tended too.
I love you finally felt underrated & i one this drowning feeling was the emotions I kept hidden for so long trying to surface too quickly.
I stopped believing in fairytales when I was the young age of seventeen. When I watched the prince take his arrows and shoot me in the heart over and over again.
When I realized all the my friends men were nothing but liars and cheats.
I stopped believing in romance at the young age of twenty two. When I gave that prince another chance and he dug the knife deeper in my back than anyone else has ever done. When I started to notice the Icy chill run through my spine in each new bed I would try.
Here I am the ripe age of twenty eight trying to solve the puzzle of lust and love at first site and wondering if there is such thing. Wondering if maybe there is a chance for salvation and happiness somewhere down the overgrown path we haven’t taken.
That maybe, just maybe, that broken boy and that broken girl can hold hands and walk the wild path together.
That maybe, just maybe, we can wander the secret gardens and plant our own seeds of beauty.
But, then again, aren’t we just two lost souls desperately trying to find ourselves in the end?
If we meet ourselves in the gardens of despair what shall we do or say?
In thy hands I laid my heart, in your embrace I gave my love, in your body I intertwined my own
Thy kiss so sweet like a drop of honey in the meadow of my soul.
Almost done with the waiting, almost kissing your lips once again
Reach in the depths of my being; Claim revenge upon my body and put an end to the thirst that grew in the time we have waited for this moment
Longing for the quickening of my blood, the quivering of my skin; our eyes meeting in whispering communion
For sweet is the kiss but sour is the aftertaste
A straight line delivers the illusion of control – the delusion manifested order could ever be kept in tow,
or manipulated reasoning
could ever take seed and grow
against the natural ebb and flow.
If each our mind a garden, work to see it bloom
full of luscious fruit capable of sweetening even the dankest, darkest glooms.
Savor that sweet, succulent juice as it drips from your lips and cascades
To break from the mold, let go of control. To break from the mold, let go of control.
as the days get shorter
the sun hides behind the dusky pillow of clouds
and the sky turns grey
and my lover runs away
as i beg him to stay
as i fall astray
sunflowers wilt, as i realized the pain
as sun-kissed them, goodbye.
sunflowers wilted with a desperate tilt
Sunflowers wilted once the sun ran away
©sol /the poems i never spoke
One day the rain came falling down
And through the window,
I saw you walking down the gardens.
Your steps were slow but cautious,
Your eyes fixed on the path below.
The birds flew by,
The leaves rustled in the wind,
Yet you only had eyes for one thing.
You looked at your route
With in mind the destination,
Yet you forgot to look around
At the scenery that surrounded you.
deck the streets this season
Hosta’s blossoms fade
Mexican Petunia spread
A view out the window