"softens" poems
I feel your silky hair through my rough, calloused hands
Your flawless skin softens this hardened heart
Melting away into your arms
Gentle scratches across my bare back remind me,
That I am far from alone in this cold world
I crave this beautiful touch, not between lovers
A reassuring brush of the shoulder and a deserving look
Eyes that sparkle like a priceless gem
A wise, bullied soul with a sharp wit to match
The voice that strikes fear into me, as a conscious into a person
My love, do not mistake this weary traveler for an idiot
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 2:25 AM UTC
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
by God, I don't know what to
do.
they're so nice to have around.
they have a way of playing with
the *****
and looking at the **** very
seriously
turning it
tweeking it
examining each part
as their long hair falls on
your belly.
it's not the ******* and *******
alone that reaches into a man
and softens him, it's the extras,
it's all the extras.
now it's raining tonight
and there's nobody
they are elsewhere
examining things
in new bedrooms
in new moods
or maybe in old
bedrooms.
anyhow, it's raining tonight,
on hell of a dashing, pouring
rain....
very little to do.
I've read the newspaper
paid the gas bill
the electric co.
the phone bill.
it keeps raining.
they soften a man
and then let him swim
in his own juice.
I need an old-fashioned *****
at the door tonight
closing her green umbrella,
drops her green umbrella,
drops of moonlit rain on her
purse, saying **** man,
can't you get better music
than that on your radio?
and turn up the heat..."
it's always when a man's swollen
with love and everything
else
that keeps raining
splattering
flooding
rain
good for the trees and the
grass and the air...
good for things that
live alone.
I would give anything
for a female's hand on me
tonight.
they soften a man and
then leave him
listening to the rain.
7.5k
I'm trying to find the right metaphor for the storm
but I ended up mumbling your name.
I can hear your bones break like thunder.
I can hear your cries against my windowpane,
thousands of miles from where you are.
You never thought I would stop running but I did.
I still remember the day when you beg my heart to settle down.
I still remember our little dance in the terrace,
two young people in the night,
experiencing forever in twelve hours.
You were the reason why I feel sad over the sound
of singing cicadas and heartbeats.
You were the reason why I stop leaving things unfinished.
Last night, a friend called and told me how you're doing.
I wonder if your scars still hurt when it's six degrees outside.
I want to cover your shoulder with words and moonlight until it softens.
Until you stop putting your hand on your chest at 2AM to keep it from howling.
I don't remember what type of storm you are anymore,
But I still remember you when it rains.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
When I woke up today,
something was amiss,
I was expecting sunshine,
but I didn't expect this.
Snowflake upon snowflake,
falling across the sky.
I was quickly awake,
and I thought I knew why.
The calm beauty of snow,
it never grows old.
It relaxes my mind,
and softens the cold.
It makes me yearn,
for that inner peace.
And makes me wish for,
Snow, to never cease.
3/24/13
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
What can you say about Pennsylvania
in regard to New England except that
it is slightly less cold, and less rocky,
or rather that the rocks are different?
Redder, and gritty, and piled up here and there,
whether as glacial moraine or collapsed springhouse
is not easy to tell, so quickly
are human efforts bundled back into nature.
In fall, the trees turn yellower-
hard maple, hickory, and oak
give way to tulip poplar, black walnut,
and locust. The woods are overgrown
with wild-grape vines, and with greenbrier
spreading its low net of anxious small claws.
In warm November, the mulching forest floor
smells like a rotting animal.
A genial pulpiness, in short: the sky
is soft with haze and paper-gray
even as the sun shines, and the rain
falls soft on the shoulders of farmers
while the children keep on playing,
their heads of hair beaded like spider webs.
A deep-dyed blur softens the bleak cities
whose people palaver in prolonged vowels.
There is a secret here, some death-defying joke
the eyes, the knuckles, the bellies imply-
a suet of consolation fetched straight
from the slaughterhouse and hung out
for chickadees to peck in the lee of the spruce,
where the husks of sunflower seeds
and the peace-signs of bird feet crowd
the snow that barely masks the still-green grass.
I knew that secret once, and have forgotten.
The death-defying secret-it rises
toward me like a dog's gaze, loving
but bewildered. When winter sits cold and black
slumped between its two polluted rivers,
warmth's shadow leans close to the wall
and gets the cement to deliver a kiss.
5.4k
She keeps asking what he does,
though his answers are recycled:
French bulldogs, paintball,
a seventh-grade broken nose.
The basket of fries between them
feels like an interview.
She teases about sweat-stuck bangs,
neon-laced Docs,
his faux leather squeaking when he moves.
Her smile forgives empty stories,
softens each silence.
Condensation slips down her glass,
her knee brushes his,
a spark he does not catch,
his throat working like a valve.
The door opens, closes,
a draft carries smoke and cedar.
distant wildfires.
Outside, a truck unloads shrimp.
A box bursts on the pavement,
pink shells and thawing ice
sliding into gutter water.
Curses flare into the alley.
Engines idle.
Hydraulics hiss.
The stoplight clicks red to green,
green to red,
its metronome louder than either of them.
Somewhere past Brockway Summit
a ridgeline blooms orange.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
As one chosen by God, certain attributes
are demonstrated with loving regularity;
despite one’s beliefs, showing kindness
requires a daring of spiritual temerity.
For The Lord expects His children to give
Love towards people without expectations;
know that being tenderhearted, helps one
to naturally extend actions of compassion.
Don’t think lightly, about the richness
of kindness, it may one lead to repentance;
its warm embrace softens the heart, while
Salvation overrides Death’s life sentence.
The merit of kindness can’t be overstated;
being accepting, forgiving without judgment
means not rigidly imposing beliefs on others.
As His children, one should make investments
in the individualized development of others.
With the “Fruit of The Holy Spirit”, growth
and maturation can be properly accelerated
when applying by the principle of God’s oath
to “humbly walk in Love” (as He requires).
Kindness is patient, when paired with respect,
justice, long-suffering and unconditional Love;
the value of kindness, no one should neglect.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 4:32; Gal 5:22-23; Heb 6:10; Rom 2:4;
Luke 6:35; Col 3:12; Prov 3:3; Mica 6:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
“daddy, why do you love me.”
i love
how you make me feel
bring out
the daddy in me
to provide
protect
give you everything
you’re so small
vulnerable
helpless
you are
his little
his baby girl
his kitten
daddy’s heart
softens
warms
when you hug
dote
seek his love
and attention
sit in his lap
wrap your arms
around his neck
you are daddy’s
little girl
*************************************
“husband, why do you love me.”
i love you as
a friend
a partner,
but most of all
as a soul mate
you’ve made me better
given me
a sense of purpose
grounded me
held my hand
opened my heart
allowed me
to express
share my
innermost feelings
shed tears
and not judged me
*************************************
“that, my wife & little is why i love you so”
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
Let me tell you, I thought I knew love before you came around.
I mean, I’ve written a million love poems.
But the subjects, they’re more or less the same, black ink, red ink, graphite.
And the graphite smudges, and so the picture is never perfect.
I try to re-write it all without mistakes, but I don't have an eraser.
Which is to say that I have commitment issues, but no issue committing, I just commit all the time, to everything.
I've canoodled with paper, but there's never enough space on the page for all the love I have.
Sometimes, I’ll meet a crayon that brings some colour to my life, but they’re just too waxy and impressionable. Too immature, too naive.
Naive.
I’ve never actually been in love.
But you, you are so much different and way hotter.
You bring a spark into my life that I’ve never known.
Baby, you set my world on fire.
I tell myself, blue pen, don’t let this go up in smoke.
Let me tell you. I would do anything to know love.
You see, there isn’t much to me, but I’ve got this way with words and I’ll write you into every poem that’s ever birthed hope in the eyes of star-crossed lovers.
I’ll draw you a map of my heart so when you feel lonely after you’ve been put aside and forgotten in the back of a cupboard, I’ll be there.
I want you.
I want the good things and your sweet embrace of smoke smells really good right now.
I want the good things but I’ll take it all. I’ll take the bad things too.
Fill my lungs with your poison, show me what it’s like to love something so much it kills you.
Teach me how to give all of myself to someone just so they are satisfied, even if it leaves me crushed on the cement.
Let me become addicted to you.
My whole life is written in ink and I can’t escape the mistakes I’ve made so if you’ll have me, here I am.
I can’t guarantee that I’ll be right for you, who knows what you write with but I will be here.
Let me tell you, I will still love you after watching you kiss the lips of every person that craves your taste.
I will still love you after you steal the oxygen out of helpless gasps and sunken cheekbones.
I will still love you after your temper sets forests ablaze.
I will still love you when you suffocate me in your fumes, leaving me choking on everything I should have said to you.
I will still love you when you burn out and your ember softens against a pillow of ash, and your smell, your taste, your everything lingers in the air like a nostalgic dream that I never want to wake up from.
Let me tell you, I am forever.
I am infinite and I can create and write anything you want, even if it’s just prose on a piece of paper or a picture of the moon on nights when you’re the only good left in the world.
I can be anything you want, and if that is someone that will love you because they want to, and not because they have to, then I will be that.
I won’t quit you.
I can’t.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst ************
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ***** too tight
**** reason!
INVEST!
Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******** with teeth make ******** meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed ******** that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in ***********
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!
Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
Nothing is found, except it is hidden,
Nothing is hidden, except it is a secret;
Nothing is a secret except it is a treasure.
Beloved,
you are a secret treasure hidden to be found.
Indeed,
you are a goddess of beauty.
When l behold your eyes l see love,
l see us in you.
When l weighed your mind, l found courage,
when you smile my heart smiles.
When you speak the burdens of my heart are lifted up.
In my dreams is you that l see,
ln my visions is you that l picture,
ls you that l capture.
When l first saw you,
l met a stranger.
As l talked with you,
l discovered a divine embodiment with character and charisma.
As l thought of you,
l discovered my friend.
As l came closer,
l discovered my missing rib.
As l walked with you,
l found my wife.
When l gazed at your beauty,
a spell of love gripped me.
I felt a sigh of relief in my heart.
You have l loved and you will l love.
Loving you means so much to me,
beholding your immaculate beauty beautifies the glory of our future.
My tears and fear is to lose you.
I am perfected in your love,
you are the tender spirit of my heart,
the one that softens my heart;
your love has stolen my heart away.
I've never been so much in love,
not until l met you.
Losing you means loss of countless memories to me,
ln loving you have l understood the worth of true and genuine love.
My soul bleeds for the moment of our union as one.
I long for the moment when we shall cleave together as birds in the sky,
singing the songs of love together as one,
sharing in an everlasting happiness.
Then shall l tell you how much you mean to me,
how effective your spell of love have gripped me.
We're not only humanly designed for each other,
we're divinely designed from each other.
My love for you is forever
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
Swing high, swing low
To the different birds I say hello
Then monsters come to devour the pretties
They grin and show me teeth full of flitties
Swing high, swing low
A demon pushes me onto a spiky pillow
Then cotton candy softens the blow
and turns to blood
Swing high, swing low
I really do not know
Why the female body causes so much distress
When the moon decides that it's time to fertilize
Swing high, swing low
There are no seeds to sow, so
please, hormones, just leave me alone.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
I am not your sunrise lover.
I am 10pm
after a hard days labor.
Dinners cooked and kitchens cleaned.
Lazy hands trace
limp bodies.
Breath softens and bodies roll.
But I am not your sunrise lover
I am midnight moon
high in the sky
eyes thrown back and
thighs open wide.
Sweat drips
breath thick
blood rushing in our lips
body quivers
spirits moan
But I am not your sunrise lover
I am 2am
secrets whispered through
heavy voices and drooping eyes
true selves revealed
under the cloak of night.
Bodies held close
-which is yours?
-which is mine?
It doesn't really matter
I'll be gone before dawn
Because I am not your sunrise lover...
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
For the way we treat eachother
There is no way
To say how we do these crazy things
Yet we’ll change our minds
For nothing more than diamond rings and earthly kings.
One day we love how we talk
And sing and walk
The next we try to look away
And walk on to another day
If we have a soul how does it know when to stop and to go
But if we never burn or glow
Then what are we then?
We are simply nothing and no one wins.
We are so afraid of how we feel
That suddenly we can no longer be real.
We’re turned into something, someone else
until the tension softens and melts.
So now we feel fine or
Ok
Or alright
And then eventually we begin
To fall
Because we feel nothing at all.
All just for the way we treat eachother
Maybe we forget we are all sisters and brothers
Yet brothers hurt sisters and sisters hurt brothers
We are so worried about our own hearts beat
We loose ourselves in our own tension and heat.
We should look outside ourselves and let the feelings flow.
Unless we want our souls to fade
Let’s show each other a better way.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 12:30 PM UTC
In the depths of this despair,
Comes a glimmer of shinning hope,
As memories floor that emptiness,
And feelings gather, hard to cope.
The cold hardness softens,
And love bubbles gently afloat,
As ticking clocks start to stop,
Through years of lost notes.
"A cheeky little smile",
That's what you wrote,
As we sat there apart,
Easily your best quote.
But those days have gone,
All seem so now remote,
As I say goodbye to those memories,
A lump in my throat.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:35 AM UTC
There's something special about falling for a boy who's leaving.
By knowing he'll be gone,
You'll take your time to memorize the shape of his face and the way it changes with his mood.
You'll study his sleeping body as he rolls away and then back into you,
And you'll look at his bare chest in a way that you didn't get the chance to before.
You'll feel every inch of his body against you and you'll dream of his lips lingering on yours.
By knowing that he is going to be thousands of miles away,
You'll be able to laugh with him as you tell him all the things he has to do for you,
Like trying an authentic Italian cannoli and describing the taste of every sip of wine he'll take.
You have the chance to let his voice reverberate within you,
And you'll hear him laugh from his stomach and love every second of it.
By falling for a boy who's leaving, you get to experience little things that wouldn't go noticed otherwise.
You'll get to see how his eyes change when he tells you about his family,
And you'll watch how his entire body softens when he talks about how loved he is,
Even though he doesn't necessarily see it.
You'll find that writing poems about him is easier than writing about the boys you've known your entire life,
And it's probably because you didn't have all that time to learn about him.
Falling for a boy who's leaving is special because it'll make you realize all the things that you didn't think were important before.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
I admit, I’ve never chosen you.
Falling in love is temporary,
love is a choice.
And I surrender to you.
You’re heart is grandiose.
In search of an asylum,
the delicacy of your love,
softens my core.
Peering into your soul,
through the earthy green
in your eyes, that spec of blood orange
a fire lights inside of you, hungry
to achieve a purpose.
I want to be your motivation,
be your motivator.
We could lose time
but we’d meet back at the equator,
once again, feeding the fire
that lights for you and I.
We’ve survived darkness
time & time again, lost.
In search of that dwindling fire
we find each other, nose to nose.
We are special, We are young, We are beautiful, We are complex,
We are strong.
We are real.
Years spent, trying to navigate
the passion of our love.
We’ve rebelled against time,
against distance...
We are flawed, we are damaged.
But we are stubborn in love.
I hope I’m not too late,
I want a clean slate
I’m not holding back anymore.
For the first time, boo
I choose you.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
You hate when I stare--
Those long, unwavering looks that let me feel like I’m touching your soul,
they’re my favorites.
But you don’t get it…
Don’t get that I’m marveling at you
Your words, your mind, your gestures,
The way your lips melt into your cheeks
and your eyelashes curl so far they touch your skin,
or how your entire face softens when you smile.
I’m memorizing you:
Line by nose,
curve by smile.
I stare because I want to hold your waist,
to touch your arm,
to feel your hand around my shoulder.
I stare because I’m dying.
What is it now?
Is my love too strong?
Do I expect too much?
Have you forgotten about me again?
It feels that way…
As I crave the warmth of your remembrance
someone else has caught your smile
and I have slipped your mind.
It’s understandable, really—
Or can I be so understanding?
You are it for me.
I wake from dreams about you only to curl into the cool, crisp spot where you should be lying in my bed.
I eat breakfast and wonder what you’re doing;
I listen to music to ponder how you feel.
When I’m upset yours is the first number I want to call
and my delight is yours to share.
You have the power to move and remove me
because I will always fall into you and yours.
There is so much to say…
But sometimes I just stare;
I stare because I’m dying.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
I’m a Shard of broken glass
sharp in sin until at last
I found myself casted in
the oceans of your grace
Your waves of zeal wash over me
Found in You is where I’m free
The peace within your salty seas
Softens the briery parts of me.
Hallelujah! you find me
hallelujah! you redefine me
a sea glass gemstones purposed now
to bring glory of your throne!
Riches beyond measure at Christ’s
expense I’m made a treasure
How beautiful you are.
How beautiful you are.
Hallelujah! you find me
hallelujah! you redefine me
a sea glass gemstones purposed now
to bring glory of your throne!
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
...and there’s no one there to hear it,
does it make a sound?
________________________
My poetry performed—
before a crowd of johnny-jump-ups
Their faces toward me in unison—
they listen
Intense, motionless energy
Velvet applause of purple and
Yellow yelling!
Encore
of performing in the perfume
with a troop of lilacs
They will remember me
While I— await their return to May
through billowing miles
of drowsing sachet
breathing euphorias
between the lingerie of clouds
What happens after ecstasy?
Grieving in life’s presence?
Loss of mind to self-possession?
_________________
...and when my sense of smell gives out
I will hold on for a while
to the walker of hearing
trying not to stumble past
the song of thrush
beyond me in the blurring leaves
once so clearly—
crinkled, shiny, and infant green….
_____________
As a child I held on to nothing
for dear life
I could cup a storm in my hands!
Could run with the rhythm of a horse!
I could fly in my mind’s eye
if the ferns I used were only wings!
If I pretended hard enough
I could eat my own home-baked mud pies!
If only I could be—
more than a fledgling of eight
so earthbound, clumsy
_____________
But while the lilacs were out of town
thunder met the flash
and gutted summer!
I ran for dear life!
from the amazing distance of its echoes
pelted by its gentle gift
Snagged by growing things—
the clinging prattle
of their momentous tendrils....
______________
Lovers run off the path
past water lilies
along the swollen veins to the river
toward a grave and pounding heart
The Ancient Flood was jealous....
Now when the wind softens
and rain is tossed
last, and only from the leaves
may their encore be cupped in the hands
of some passer-by
Remembering—
that either because of a trifling wind
or the weight of time...
a tree fell here
clubbing the river’s bank senseless
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Yesterday she was nowhere to be found
In the earth or under the earth.
Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon
Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre.
A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash
And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood.
Now something is stirring in the smolder.
We call it a girl.
Still wowed.
She has no idea where she is.
Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock.
Is this the world?
It confuses her. It is a great numbness.
She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things
And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow.
She rests
From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze
Of the curious and their curious questions -
What has happened? What am I?
Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully.
But her legs are impatient,
Mending from so long nothingnesses
Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out,
Swaying this way and that,
Grasping for balance, learning fast -
And she's suddenly upright
And stretching - a giant hand
Strokes her from top to toe
Perfecting her outline, as she tightens
The knot of herself.
Now she comes to -
Bold, beautiful - Argentina
Over the weird world. Her nose
crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding,
A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm
And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch
Everything fits her together.
Soon she'll almost be a woman.
She wants to be a Woman,
Pretending each day more and more Woman
Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman
Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame
Beneath silver gusts,
It will coil her eyeballs and her heels
In a single outlaw fright - like the awe
Between mortar and firework.
And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond
Among lilies,
And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner,
All the full moons and the dark moons.
Booming, ineffable delight.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
The dreamer is breathless as he clutches his chest
These feelings amuck inexplicable at its best
Managing a gasp and finally drawing his air
Never thought it possible, these feelings he'd share.
It's been long since he'd last uttered the deal breaker
Expecting hate and regret, yet receiving love so tender
It softens him so, lifting him way up high
It blinded him so, fighting it he never did try.
On swift magical wings, down to him she had swooped
With kind loving hands, his time-worn body she adoringly scooped
Into her warm comforting chest, the dreamer would retreat
He finds comfort in a sound; the rhythm of her heart beat.
Chest to chest, soul to soul, their hearts beat as one
He looks up teary eyed, he looks up at his sun
She gazes upon him like she's known him forever
He stares up at her and says, "There can be no other".
Together they took flight to destinations unknown
Their love they would want, to carve immortal into stone
They had cared not for the whims of the universe
Submerged themselves deep in love's sweet murmurs.
This thing in his chest badly wants to sing
Of words so sweet, of melodies so endearing
It wants to say true words of praise
Whisper promises of an Eden-like place.
The dreamer worships his sun as he'd found his dream
Dreams of rolling meadows and night's silvery moonbeam
He whispered of feelings that he believed to be his
He presented them to her as she's the only one he sees.
I am the dreamer who never truly wants to wake
Hopeful of a life that this dream could possibly make
I still am the dreamer who believes it'll all come true
I am the silly little dreamer who's madly in love with you.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
O lonely heart so timid of approach,
Like the shy tropic flower that shuts its lips
To the faint touch of tender finger tips:
What is your word? What question would you broach?
Your lustrous-warm eyes are too sadly kind
To mask the meaning of your dreamy tale,
Your guarded life too exquisitely frail
Against the daggers of my warring mind.
There is no part of the unyielding earth,
Even bare rocks where the eagles build their nest,
Will give us undisturbed and friendly rest.
No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth.
But in the socket-chiseled teeth of strife,
That gleam in serried files in all the lands,
We may join hungry, understanding hands,
And drink our share of ardent love and life.
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