Ink stained

My love for you is ink stained—

green, when i planted thoughts of you

purple, when you were my king

blue, when i thought you were my sky

and black, when i was over you

…

My love for you is ink stained,

validated by the waiting paper.

 

 

 

Beyond words

if a man should love the world
and lose his own soul
then I am a lost case…

for I am in love with the grass
on my bare feet,
the stately trees around,
the sea reflecting beauty of the sky,
and the warm sun hugging my body

and I thank God I’m a woman!

 

Dead Letters

I wrote a letter once
for a friend who is hurting;
Twice, to a brother departed;
And even more times
for strangers disheartened.

I laced beautiful words
in comforting tones
beneath stoic guises,
To that unfeeling paper
of impoverished depth…
Lost in impoverished depth.

Gently, I wrapped them,
white against my cold hands;
neat packages of love—
These letters.
They always ended with:
“Répondez s’il vous plaît.”

And yet I never sent them.

A prayer

I pray for my thought
may it be of good;
however wrought
in solitude.

I pray for my words
to speak of grace —
encouraging words
and not disgrace.

I pray for my actions
to better my verbs;
driven by passions,
devoid of blurbs.