By the whispering river I linger on
And I wonder if with a swish of my finger I could make this vision gone
I feel a reflection of my face
A visage longing for embrace
She is unknown, odd, quite strange
Yet I hesitate to swirl her up and rearrange
Perhaps emerald eyes are only meant to gaze
Across the earth’s soft mid-summer haze
And dream of seeds scattered inside my aching heart
Watered by tears so the roots sprouted and tore apart
The knowing of my own reflection never seen
And bitter sweet taste for belonging never been
Your face. Your face. Your face.
I painted on lonely Spring day
Your hope, your beauty, my truth
Is it time to wash you away?
There’s a black hole in the waters where I dip me feet
It sucks me in and murmours our endless eulogy
Half of me is sinking low, the other half takes flight
Reflected in the moonlight half woman in your sight
You would never ever quite reach me or teach me about our home
Because poetry is fantasy and truth is all alone
My ache. Your Face. Our story
I would never undo what has passed
Your hope, your beauty, my truth
Crazy?
Until my heart beats its last
-
Author:
sylviasearcher (
Offline) - Published: March 23rd, 2019 03:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 42
- Users favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm.
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Comments6
This was an enjoyable read.
Thanks Nic 😊
Sylvia,
A great read!
Your writings are interesting and intriguing!
I love this line...
“Because poetry is fantasy and truth is all alone”
~Laura~
Oh intriguing and interesting, how kind. They are all little feelings I guess, or thoughts, or a sense of something.
Thanks for reading 😊
You’re welcome!😃
Lovely read, you are so descriptive in your writing. I enjoyed the flow of this
Thanks fractured dreams, I have an eclectic mix of poems I think but this took me back to where I began the tragic romantic!
Thanks for your kind words 😊
Always good to have a mish mash of works. This was lovely
It would be very easy to get lost in these words... and that is another compliment 2 - 0 up to me... Good Afternoon
I didn’t know you were keeping count.
You’re just never good at noticing my compliments!
failed again...
Oh of course not. Thank you for the compliment.
tis meant.............
An ache of a read Sylvia - the ferment of sadness follows along every line as love still powers memory despite our intentions. Saved this one for further reading.
Thanks Fay, sometimes the memory of such things can overwhelm us, yet of late I let myself have a moment of it when it arrives.
Such a good write Sylvia.
Thank you 😊
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