Back in old Blighty BRRRRRRRRRRRR! Why do I always have to leave the things that I love?
And why do all the things that i love always leave me in the end?
The Spanish sun I bathed within.
And i felt its rays of warmth.
And was consumed.
For their warmth is like being in love.
But always I will return, as a moth to the light!
Even if the suns rays to burn me.
My poetry is the end of day,
As the night to bring me calm,
It is all the things in my heart to write,
With its ink, my soul embalmed.
Its within the eyes of a woman there,
Where my inspiration found,
It to ask my need?
And to fly this earth,
And my feet not touch the ground.
And In every word is a passion sent,
It to gift my heart within,
And the moment asks?
In the words I write,
The emotion I am in?
In this sea of words,
As the waves of ink,
They do splash upon the page.
I to write my heart and it's honest truth!
For my poetry,
Is my sage.
And why do all the things that i love always leave me in the end?
The Spanish sun I bathed within.
And i felt its rays of warmth.
And was consumed.
For their warmth is like being in love.
But always I will return, as a moth to the light!
Even if the suns rays to burn me.
My poetry is the end of day,
As the night to bring me calm,
It is all the things in my heart to write,
With its ink, my soul embalmed.
Its within the eyes of a woman there,
Where my inspiration found,
It to ask my need?
And to fly this earth,
And my feet not touch the ground.
And In every word is a passion sent,
It to gift my heart within,
And the moment asks?
In the words I write,
The emotion I am in?
In this sea of words,
As the waves of ink,
They do splash upon the page.
I to write my heart and it's honest truth!
For my poetry,
Is my sage.
- Member since June 11, 2005.
- I'm a lyric diamond poet for 2393 comments.
- My mood is
, and quote is Coochicochicoo!. - I am a 54 year old man (Great Britain)
- I support the site as a gold member
- I am in the groups Will The Real Love Please Stand Up
- I have 2,393 comments, 20 contests
My Lists
My Poetry
-
The more that you see the less you believe,
In the things that your senses this world can perceive, -
A place of secrets and wooded spells,
Where prying eyes can not befell, -
That place so deep inside of us,
A fear of being alone,
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