71/M/Creswell, OR A published poet many times over.
If we can not see the beauty of the mind,
or can not hear the poems of heart
or voices of souls that sing...
we are indeed domed in all ways. 71 followers / 340 words
Boast of proud titles and public honors. Boast of warriors whose victories are many. But at a simple frown their glory dies, buried and forgotten. Happy that love bars me from such a fate, because love never dies and is worth more than all of these.
My heart has painted the beauty of your soul. An artist that draws wonder to the canvas of the mind and lends truth to love’s beauty. Love that delights my being. Painting my love brings such wealth and vivid color. A masterpiece robbed only of its poverty...
I will always write of this argument between you and my love. Saying what has already been said trying to make old words fresh, new. The meaning is the same. My heart is still saying what is already been said. A very simple ‘I love you.’
Waves and minutes hasten to their end. Childhood crawls to maturity and then ends Times gifts with ragged hands gives and removes but not the treasures life has stored, this summed up in one word; love.
Sun, moon and golden candles hung in midair are but ornaments used by heavens muse to paint true love and all things rare. My love does stir my vice to compare painted words to love and these candles hung in midair.