Who?

 

 

 

Who will you call,

When love starts to fade,

Who’ll hold your hand,

And try to persuade,

Who’ll be the one,

That leads you away,

And who’ll be the one,

Who prays that you stay,

Who will you tell,

Of the dreams that you hold,

And who’ll be the one,

To see them unfold,

Who will tell stories,

Of where you have been,

And who’ll paint the pictures,

Of all that you’ve seen.

Who will be burned,

By the heat of your touch,

And who’ll be the one,

That’s left to begrudge,

Who will you wake with,

On each new tomorrow,

And who’ll be the one,

Who rises with sorrow.

Who’ll be the one,

Who comes after me,

I hope she is all,

That I couldn’t be.

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In my Dreams

In shadows of slumber and transient hues,

You are the sculptor and I am your muse,

Misty pink tones of a softened pastiche,

Banish the shame and let passions unleash.

Fingers so gentle, they mould a wet form,

I am the clay for your touch to transform,

My skin is the canvas that is yours to explore,

And my blood is the palette of fire you adore.

The silken washed edges that glisten and sheen,

Do dance in the moonlight and veil the unseen.

The phoenix that rises from the moulds of desire,

Is born out of passion and its transient lit fire.

Pray keep me in slumber and do not awake,

For you are the path of the road I can’t take.

You are the Romeo to my Juliet,

You are the one I cannot forget.

When You’re Gone

I can see you but you’re not in sight,

I am with you but we don’t meet,

I hear you speak but we don’t talk

You are my memories in daytime,

And my dreams that come at night.

 

I hold you but we don’t embrace,

I smell your scent but you’re not there,

I sense your thoughts but I’m asleep,

You are all the touches on my skin,

And all that whispers upon my face.

 

I feel your warmth but I am cold,

I taste your thirst but I can’t drink,

I know your hunger but I don’t eat,

You were all I ever wanted,

And all my tales that were untold.

 

I’m at your grave but you’re not here,

I bring you flowers but you can’t smell,

I share my woes but you don’t help,

You were all that was good and true,

And all that’s left is hurt and fear.

 

I yearn for you but know you’re gone,

I bear the pain but fear I’m weak,

I hope for peace but the war still rages.

You were all that made me strong,

You were my life, you were my one.

 

Below Stairs.

I am still trying to work on my self imposed commitment to try new styles and genres in my writing. Below is a short meld of bits of this and that. Its a kind of story and poem with an historical yet erotic twist thrown in, oh my!    I call it ………………………………practice!

*

 

You asked me once if I knew your name, I could not answer, we were not the same.

You had choice and you had reason, If I hoped for more it would be treason.

For I was born to serve the world, and you were born to rule unfurled.

To me there was no name to share, no binding cord to show you care.

 

The pain you craved was hidden deep, behind stone walls and protected keep,

Yet you came to me and shared your soul, I gave you freedom and I gave you all.

I bared my body to feed your lust, it was my place and to survive I must,

When I wept in pain you drank my tears, until pure joy replaced the fears.

 

I’m bound and tied, I cannot flee, yet still I yearn for what will be.

I await your feel and crave your touch, and soon the ache becomes too much.

You tease my skin with dark and light, the lash of leather and feathered slight.

The reddened marks they fuel your fire, and still you soar and reach for higher.

 

You trace your tongue across my flesh, from ear to throat and then refresh,

You squeeze and tease a hardened tip, the trembling throes of passions grip.

Your tongue moves lower across pale skin, I strain against this mortal sin,

Yet how could we reject this force, that ties us blindly in its course.

 

You untie my bounds and leave to go, you say no words but your eyes they show,

That this is all there will ever be, that you are the master and the servant, me.

 

(Image from fineartamerica.com)

The Wedding Dress.

I’ve never really written poetry, I always seem to need more words to tell a story!

I’m trying to challenge myself and try new things. But I’m still not eating mushrooms……………………..

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 She sat alone, quiet and still.

 The room once empty,

 Her thoughts now fill.

She thought of the laughter

And thought of the tears,

 Thought back to a time,

 Without any fears.

She thought of the boy,

 Who grew to a man,

 She thought of the sun

 And the grass,

 Where they ran.

She thought of the war,

 And the green fields beyond.

 She thought of the blood,

 The pain and the gore,

 She thought of the man

 Who loved her no more.

She thought back to a time,

Before he was slain,

Thought back to a time,

When all was to gain,

She thought of the dress,

still hung by the door.

Her hopes, like her wedding day,

Lost all those years before.