Such a wise melody,
lingering softly in my mind—its harmony,
a pull for a soul steeped in symphony.
When I see you, I wonder:
How far could an angel wander?
Each stolen glance, a whispered chance,
such a fine line of crushed romance.
That melody plays on, unfaltering,
and a figure—man-like, beautiful—
stands before me, angelic, aglow;
what could be more perfect than meeting you sooner?
Seized by the urge to admire,
I chase this blue-moon desire.
What harm, if only for once?
Yet here I must end my song,
for I am just a quarter note,
a passing beat in a fading measure.
And even as I drift to silence,
I’ll always be here, a steady refrain,
quietly liking you, you see.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Threads
PoetryWords become voices-emotions unsaid, woven in threads of poetry. Feelings hold meanings, dreams unfurl, their echoes lingering, soft and surreal.
