Whispers of hair covering your face, telling your pores and furrowed brows a story
Your ears, taking in every damaged sound you hear, turning it into a beautiful one
Your eyes, staring at everyone and everything in the room but the only thing you seem to focus on is who's peering at you
Your hands, gentle and tired, working through the day's failures and triumphs
that we must complete
Your lips, moving at the softened pace that your mind's river has decided to flow to
Your nose, twitching and showing the world your invisible breaths
Christina, the love
Why can't you hear it?
The praise we chant to you
Christina, the love
Why can't you see it?
We all want to care for you
Christina, the love
Why can't you feel it?
The warmth we gather for you
Christina, the love
why can't you taste it?
The sweet sense of curiosity we bring to you
Christina. Our love.
Why can you not sense
The love we give to you.
YOU ARE READING
•Mind on Paper•
PoetryThis is going to be a collection of late night thoughts and spurs of inspiration for your viewing pleasure. Some of these could be happy, sad, melancholic, and much more. My brain is the brush, the paper, or in this case the screen is my canvas. I...
