My angst roams in The nothingness of Shadows long gone Melancholia becomes A souvenir In my quill In the sky's silence I hear the whisper Of falling blossoms Butterflies loiter On quivering leaves Luminescing Tangerine Honeydew scents My blood rushes red Pushing effervescent Into pages framed A keyboard becomes A lifelong friend My fingers could Never get fatigued From writing Tears become words I won't know if you have heard I breathe into a constellation born In the blue of my quill.
Waltzing through air, this vision with beguiling delicate grace
Like a danseuse figure, poised, carving delicate grace.
A breeze gently embraces this fragile creature
touching nimble limbs, a limber accentuating delicate grace.
Sunlight streams iridescent on her lissome stance
symmetrically lithe and supple, flaunting delicate grace.
Rhythmic movements pattern fawn colored sand creations
nudging grass beneath, with a soothing delicate grace.
The boundless energy of this dainty, flighty antelope
as she ambulates gracefully, epitomizing, delicate grace.
Elusive, mysterious, uninhibited, she basks in nature’s fold
within a cosmos, spangled with, pleasing, delicate grace.
Her vulnerability fills me with foreboding and much fear
of bloodthirsty predators, massacring delicate grace.
I save myself with poetry.
Blind in the darkness—
So many reasons to sleep
I search the internet
She sits pensive, this maiden fair
In solitude, she contemplates
Sojourn of capitulation
for nourishment of her soul’s fare
to where her yearning culminates
her odyssey to temptation
# Italian sestet
Everyday you become my poem to-be.
From quilled fingers
I learn the art of
Letting go :
My heart learns new definitions.
Poem to poem
The journey of my life:
The way words change