If thoughts could speak of secrets
and tip toe into dreams,
then dreams it seems would now proceed
to drift into the soul.
The soul, it lifts with every sigh-
stays pressed against the chest-
then seeps into the weakened Heart,
who trembles with each cry.
By and by the mind will learn
the Vital Organ's pain-
the longing and the loving
toward the one who has no name;
For he alone can calm the storm-
stifling fires into flame-
but until then the Spirit cries,
"Am I the one to blame?"
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is a soft and sadly beautiful poem - I really like how you have created such a strong rhythm without using rhyme (until the end) - I like the assonance and alliteration that you have used in this piece - it makes it a joy to read
wonderful!
Keep writing
Polly
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thanks a ton (sorry for the late reply
)
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