In seats of clouds,
Amidst a throne of cotton white
High above this mortal sphere,
Angels carved young lovers fate.
From Happy Endings to New Beginnings
Young love was sought, and gained.

Stretched along the archers bow
A silver lining heart engraved,
And with an arrow sharp, just like a dart,
They pierce the heart of unknowing victim.

The looks of these linear tracks
deemed jagged, rusty, splintered
and tired are railroad ties
none the less bonded to these
old worn tracks…

Many a mile and many a folk have
traveled down these hardened rails
Every screech and rattle of steel
on steel a memory, a dream of a boy,
a man, his spirit, his life on these
old worn tracks…

Be it fond memories of the proud engineer
who displays a farmers tan created solely
on one side of his beefy frame riding these
old worn tracks…

Pale blush pink to
searing crimson red
Pure bright white to
sweet sunshine yellow

These fresh roses tilled
in strong gardens at their
beginning are not born flawed

Slowly emerging, one by one
from seeds sewn with the
love of sunweathered hands
galiantly reaching toward the
sky with ambient pride

Dew droplets gently carressing
each and every petal
A heavenly scent like no other

Our sunkissed fresh roses
are like a gentle tap one
one’s life, ever so worthy
of life’s celebration

 

Her eyes were of the
utmost beauty, resembling
a kaleidoscope of green
and golden citrine

Her skin so incredibly
delicate you dare not
reach out to touch the
single tear slowly
rolling down her chin
for fear she may shatter

Adding to her beauty as
always, by her side
the single lovely pink
rose wafting her favored
scent to fill her soul

Yet it is her soul that
speaks volumes through
those magnificient eyes
of wonder as if to say
to the world

Echos of silent lights swirling, dancing, surrounding this sky so calm So many stars lucky enough to be witness to this invitation only metamorphasis Silently whispering it's colors of alabaster and tourmaline intertwinded as if bonded in marriage Reflections of aquamarine and tourquise bouncing off a lake below, bearing a face so ice crystal blue it appears as though it is pure sheets of glass not a single ripple in sight Slowly descending from the heavens bumping ever so gently into each other as though playing a game of tag Their patterns uniquely individual yet surprisingly fami

There is that quiet hour
in the midst of the gray
morning sky

As I silently contemplate
the nights end eclipsing
itself by the whisper of
a breath

Dawn now breaking across
a feathered landscape as
it reveals it’s silent
soliloquy for only myself
to hear

How effortlessly the warm
sun glides up over the
horizon as if portraying
a spectacular formation
for my eyes to behold

The glow of the sun
descends upon my face
gently kissing each cheek