In bashful eyes
peeking through the keyhole
until voices were silenced,
poetry was born in my heart.
It was my fairytale
when life was too real-
writing rhymes, reflecting
a prettier picture of love.
Fingers intertwined
with incessant faith,
I found poetry in psalms
and we three formed a circle.
Through the years,
I painted my tears on life's canvas,
in splatters of liquid longing,
sharing in empathetic sentiment
fragments of my heart.
In my book of memoirs
there are no diamond clustered cameos
nor black tie events
held in my honor,
My poetry will not be studied
in literary books
or carved in tombstones
[between parenthesis.]
I will always be that dreamer
d
a
n
c
i
n
g
in my field of flowers
picking daisies, plucking petals
"he loves me,
he loves me not"
just a simple poet
that fluttered through life
whispering syllables of love
if only to melt
a heart along the way.
♥♥
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Yes. I remember, Sweetie. 






































































248 old applause
