Love is the way a woman sighs,
That faint wisp of tender intoxication;
Like a dove swallowed by the sky,
Soaring away from this sweet aberration.
It's but a kindness seeped in cherry blossom;
For lust is a steep silent inclination
Between two things thought as it does
Recast the fool, painted in blood
For what truly is love?
Within this widespread gaiety adorned
The wilting petal sobs tears of yore.
Thorns have grown old, hand in glove
Reaching a peak thought everlasting;
But beyond every peak begins a downfall
A landslide of coddled make believe
Riveting translations from peak to mountain
Fortifying blankets of floral relief
With hopes to embrace the doll again
Some treks reveal inadequacy
Others reveal what could've been
Yet another lies among redundancy
Revealing a beauty unrequited in
The way grass grows silently on a hill
Teeming with strength of a thousand yesterdays
Left to be struck down in ephemeral bliss.
Love is drank as a nectar of fullness
Yet neglected in the ways of companionship
The way sun meets sky
Without oppressive words or feeling
Just timidity's touch
But until a day washes away
Clouds of wind and rain
Humans will continue wearing masks of love
Waltzing to ballads wrought of dew.
Merely pursuing desires of their hearts
YOU ARE READING
Loh of Yesterday
PoetryA series of poems governing the sovereign thought within. Perhaps it's a means of fulfillment Or just another thought of cloy To me it alls seems irreverent But perhaps you may find some joy What lies within this crystalline tower Will reveal all...
