Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Can't help myself
as I watch your
mouth open wide
as you attempt to
cover it up by hand
Your eyes close ever so
tight that a single tear
trickles down your
soft feminine cheek
My involuntary reflex
takes hold I mirror
your weary action
Ironically, everyone
near me reacts in a
similar fashion thus
becoming infectious
Not bored or tired,
however sometimes
it just happens to me.
Did I drool as I check
my dry chin... whew,
not this time.
A question was posed
as to the strength of
HOPE vs FEAR
HOPE lifts us
HOPE heals us
HOPE excites us
and HOPE
loves us back
without reservation
Choose HOPE over
fear as the only
fear we should
have, is the fear of
GOD's wrath.
A pocket full
of sunshine
to share some pure delight,

A pocket full
of shiny stars
to save for a really dark night.

A pocket full
of fairy dust
to sprinkle on the needy,

A pocket full
of dragon's breath
to fire at the greedy.

A pocket full
of raindrops
to wash away any impurities,

A pocket full
of umbrellas
to protect you from your insecurities.

A pocket full
of rainbows
to brighten up your skies,

A pocket full
of moonlight
to reflect the magic in your eyes.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Repost
I walked along the mountain stream
Where dancing sunbeams shone and gleamed

It was such a peaceful place
The gentle breeze carressed my face

I came across a country stile
Where I could sit and think awhile

Far  away  from  this  dangerous  world
The  natural  beauty  just  unfurled.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.
 Oct 2016 True Passion
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.
Inspired from a story I used to hear from mom long long ago when unbelievably I was a child.
As the day swings
into motion a silent
calmness surrounds
me just prior to the
worlds awakening

I RISE AND SHINE
with the morning sun
& encounter luminous
rays of warming light
falling fresh upon me

Conceding to its brazen
touch, I melt slowly in
a ritualistic peace with
the Lord before me and
the world behind me.
Next page