Of which sorrows—dear Poet—Thou never write?
This thunderous turmoil—that pierce Thy shadowed Soul!
This solemn raging—emotion's silent plight:
Tears!—Thy Sacred anticipation—to foul
Days emptiness—fulfilled with bittter, sweet,
Hopeful—remnants of The Eternal Empress;
Sailing the Infinite Oceans—where Muses meet—
To play harp melodies on our heart strings. Digress—
Never ! for the lonesome nights—from me—nor for the ****'
Fine Grin of Time stretching 'ur body fibres Songs;
. . . Know—I cherish Thou Gaze—Thou Immortal Wit. . .
Words must have failed this utmost yearnin'- indeed!
For ever 'n ever loving Thee. . .so. . .long. . .
For ever 'n ever loving Thee—So—long !
~~~~
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic beauty
~~~~
It seems
That we know why roses bloom and why the trees are rooted deep in the fertile poetic soil. Mother Earth is loved by Father Sky. That's no secret.
And we were made by love for Love. . . For there's always a divine scent of love blossoming somewhere alluringly floating around with whispering winds. I would love to see you fly on wings of poetic creation. . . Playing with rose petals and green tree leaves.
We hear this grand symphony of life and light. . .Love. . .
And we are grateful!
