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Long poem by Debbie Duncan | Details |


PART One,,,, as she saw it.

The mountains and the meadows were always so beautiful this time of year.
 It seemed as if a fresh new world always came to life. The high cliffs turned sharply downward.  As I sat listening to the ocean tides smashing against the walls of the mountain below. There was a mild breeze blowing from the south. The grass in the flower covered meadows moved with the breeze. The sun shined so brightly I thought it would melt me at times.

As I stood up from the log where I was sitting by the emerald forest, the breeze pressed my dress against me. It formed to the soft round curves of my breast, down through the curves of my waist pushing against my yielding hips. As I blinked from the sun, I saw him there in the distance. I had thought I was alone. But there he was,  starring straight at me. What would I do and where could I turn? I knew what kinds of thoughts men had, my mother told me all about them. I saw that he was beginning to move my way !

 I saw him there as he saw me. I was paralyzed, not knowing what direction to move. Though as I watched him from afar, he did not seem dangerous as my mother always warned. Still, I could hear her words like a tape recorder in the back of my mind.
 Should I dare take my eyes from his? I could see his eyes were dark, maybe brown, or even midnight blue.  What ever the color, I could tell they were smoldering with restrained passions. His hair was long to his shoulder blades. I knew that because it moved with the wind.  He had broad shoulders with long legs. I knew I must not let him reach me. If his arms entangled me , surely I would never get loose. And, I'm not sure I would want too. Even though I heard the words of my mother, running in my head.
 I could feel the tiny  beads of sweat trickling down between my breasts. I was not sure I should take my eyes from him as I leaned down to pick up the fan that had slipped from my hand to my bare feet.

PART ONE,,,, As he saw it .

  The winter snow had melted and yielded to the bright warming rays of the spring sun.  The bears had come out of hibernation with their  new born looking for food. The mountains and the meadows were born again, new, fresh and alive with life.  Everything was beautiful and as it should be. Birds singing, their mating songs blended with the crash of the surf against the steep cliffs of the mountain. Nature was at peace with itself, and I came here to share in this peace.  To be alone with the earth, or so I thought.  

I found a place to sit on the grass hidden among the flowers in the high meadows.  So I could enjoy the gentle breeze blowing while watching the forest animals. The warm sun caressed my body and warmed me. It was a prefect day, yet something was missing. A day like this needed to be shared with someone, someone special.  Stretching,  I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, just across the enchanted forest. Of a beautiful women. It couldn't be possible as no one knew of this place. I had come here for years and had never seen a another person before. Yet, there she was. Dressed in a dress the wind made love to, pressing it to her body. Clinging to the sensual curves of her breast, down to her firm waist and full inviting hips. I suddenly felt drawn to her and stood up. I knew she had seen me as she was starring back at me, as I stood staring back at her. She was a vision. And I was afraid she would vanish if I approached her. Yet, she seemed to be smiling, calling to me as I started walking towards her. I remember the stories my grandmother had told me of the enchantresses that lived in this forest, but I did not hesitate. I would give to her anything she wanted, anything she desired.

As I approached her I realized she was real. She seemed to be looking at me, daring me to come closer. All the stories of the enchantress my grandmother had told me flooded my mind with a warning. Yet, she was so beautiful, so inviting  and I couldn't take my eyes from her. I was slowly losing control with each and every step that brought me closer to her. I knew I was lost as I felt the heat of my desire to be with her, starting to take control. It was a struggle not to run to this beautiful creature , with the golden hair, and angelic face.  As I came closer I couldn't help but notice her sensual breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. She seemed to be smiling, challenging me with everything that made her a beautiful, desirable woman. A woman this sensual, this beautiful, this desirable was surely the enchantress, and I was hers. As a bee is drawn to the flower, I was being drawn to this women.

Suddenly she reached down to pick something up. It was just then I noticed she was barefoot.  As she bent over to retrieve what she had dropped, the sun reflected off her spun gold hair. and radiated a golden brightness that was almost blinding.  Her dress shifted  allowing me to see that her body enhanced her dress, rather then the dress enhancing her body. She would look beautiful in anything she wore.  The heat of my desire for her was beginning to consume me with it's fire. I felt the beginnings of ,,,,,,,,,,   


   Nov. 18 1992,,,, Short story I started to write, A friend ask if he could write from a males point of view.

Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

23 warning signs that you are severely addicted to poetrysoup dot com

1) Since you have such a crazy drive to post every thought which goes through your mind, you consider posting your grocery lists.

2) You come up with another lame senryu just to post something new(and create a cheap entry for yet another contest).

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Long poem by James Kelley | Details |

As the Castle Fell

For every step I take toward the sun,
the spark that lit the fire inside me dwindles.
History slated on unforgiving stone erodes;
A weakly chiseled dream.
But I will remember it all,
and tongues shall breed these words
and hold them with intent.
Oh, how we have fallen!
Mighty and meek alike.
We were once just, and strong.
But greatness has cast down it's
poisoned banquet and corrupted hearts
that once bled for glory.
It is with a bitter tongue I speak these words!
Remember the reason we set foot outside
of our city gates.
Remember the certainty in your hearts;
that we men would give people hope!
Hope for life without malice.
Hope for a life of freedom!
A chance for prosperity!
                   ...but what prosperity have we given?
Short of the bountiful throng of arrows that have captured
the eyes of this land and left it's people in fear?
Does a just King rule with the might of fear?!
Or does a King rule with compassion?
I ask you men,
you loyal few.
What would you have me do?
Would you have me slaughter this woman;
this beautiful princess of her people and take her
home as a prize for conquest merely because her
husband was the one that stood in the way?
Is her beauty the cost of her life?
She has wronged not one of us,
and yet you Brakkdus scoff at the thought of
her surviving her King. Why?
Here I thought men of honor followed me,
I thought men of courage swung my blades!
And, yet you fear this woman who could no
sooner do you harm than your own from the
bed that you left her in!
No, Princess Xavia shall survive her King
and remain here with her people.
I refuse to conquer the land of a tyrant,
only to settle for it's fallen ruler's morality!
If that does not befit you, then surely I am not your King.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Princess Xavia's Response
I stand with humility before such valor
My people have borne
the burden of swords and arrows,
they are silent with fear and trembling before you
Which would be yours
to burden them with once again
yet you offer them freedom
and me my life...when you could shame not only me
but those who are entrusted to me
I would prefer to fall upon the blades of your men
than to become flesh passed amongst them
the destiny of a woman
who has became the chattel of a lost victory
My blood be shed before such shame
be cast upon me
Yet you.... you have offered me back my Kingdom
and restored my name
Gallant your soul in the shadow of such a night
beneath the dark stars
where only the flames of a burnt, ashen city
provide any warmth for my grieving people
You have offered them hope
through a frail vessel such as myself,
such honor is seldom written upon the hearts of men
in days such as these
Your compassion is a light in this darkness
these times inscribed with blood
such is this age,
when the voice of stones speak more gently
than the hearts of men
Dark are these days and black is the moon
of these nights,
in these lost reveries we journey through
dreams that have become nightmares
Yet strength has arisen in one man,
a leader who throws light back
at the fallen stars
granting the nights a moment of solace
for your honor has returned hope
a light stronger than blaze of the midday sun
And as I take back my broken people
we shall take refuge in your kindness and in that light of lights
shall we rebuild this Kingdom,
our sanguine ties shall bind us
and we will rise.
I gratefully accept my life
returned to me through your kind hands
And secretly, within a whisper
it is my prayer
that when I look upon your countenance
and the time comes
that I shall gaze into your eyes again
it shall be as the queen you have restored
to her throne and to her people
and who keeps quietly within the space between her heartbeats
and the hope that she will share her throne
beside yous
should you find her efforts and her heart
(c)  Katherine Wyatt 2013

Long poem by Spenser Jones | Details |


Sometimes everything seems fake to me, and I am so tired of people acting like they remember what love is. 
Everyone says it. 
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” 
No words are more meaningful to me when sailing from the lips of a true friend or a kindred spirit, but the rest of you have to be careful where you point those syllables 
because that’s like taking the closest thing to

 the Lord’s name that I ever understood
in vain. 
I was walking back from the gas station a few weeks ago and some girl I didn’t even know looked at me and said it. 
Her lip gloss opening and closing like some kind of sea creature fishing for plankton, and I just happened to be the nearest thing drifting past.
“Love you!”, like it was hello. 
Now I have just one question
You have no idea what I am. 
My smile’s like this because my parents had the money. 
My eyes are not the windows to my soul. 
They don’t mean jack except for genetics that I had no control over, and what my mother ate when I was in utero. 
That’s like acting like my poetry is who I am. 
Like how myelinated the neurons in my linguistics center 
I can feel the right to decide that I am more or less, valuable. 
It happened again earlier too.
I was sitting on the greyhound back home, having a conversation with a girl with guys all around her like fire ants with their mating tubes out. All of them with ink, piercings, and sizing me up 
because my six-foot-four stature could not speak for itself.
I’d like to think we talked about something more important than my assets and destination, but as she turned to disappear out of the bus with her escorts, she cast the three words back on me
like throwing a fishing line on the off chance something might bite,
“I love ya.”
….what in the world. 
After this, I think of the only one whose words held their weight. 
I don’t mean no harshness, 
but if I could go back in time and have half the balls my poetry does, I’d take you aside, and tell you something you wouldn’t understand. Something like, “BAM! I am a tulip field on fire at sunset.” 
Something like, “My shirt, is from the Goodwill.” 
Something like, “You’re telling me Christ could have saved the world with His cheekbones?”
“You’re telling me I’m viable and worth a few minutes of your attention?”
“You’re telling me tall, black, and attractive is what’s in this century?” 
But let me tell you.
You don’t have any idea of the size of the planets you’re saying you want to try and swallow when you say those words to me. 
I’ve been waiting to be able to hear, feel, taste, smell, and know those words for too long. You have to mean them to say them. 
But you see, I was a philosopher before I was a poet, so I have to take that back and reflect it on myself. 
The truth is, I’m so confused that sometimes, I don’t know which end my head is at.

Poetry flies in my eyeballs that should never make it past my lips, but I’m getting tired of trying to impress people. 
In this past month, I’ve been day dreaming about the girl smiling at me and it meaning more than
“You look like you got good genetics”
“Could I please date your self esteem?”
I’ve been day dreaming of the girl who reminded me of what those three words are supposed to mean. 
Like when my acne came back, and you told me not to scratch at a handsome face.
“I love you.”
Like when my poetry departs, and all I can do is ramble things too big for my head. 
“I love you.” 
Like when I didn’t feel like just a romantic stereo type anymore. 
“I love you.” 
What those words meant to me, before I made the world make them less.

Long poem by SIMON M MATLOU | Details |



Justice Romantic Romeo : Stand up in court!       
                                                 Case No 345/03/2012
                                                Accused: Ms Provocative Dishonest
                                                Address: 197 Mpopotwane Street
                                                                Sun Valley, Mamelodi West
                                             (1)   PARTICULARS OF CHARGES

                                              (1)      Charge 1: Sweeping my heart away.
                                              (1)(a) Alternative charge to charge 1: Stealing away my soul.
                                              (2)     Charge 2: Provocatively hijacking my feelings.
                                              (2)(a) Alternative charge to charge 2: Playing         continuously in my dreams.
In terms of the Constitution’s Bill of Rights and Ubuntu  Regulations  14(3) that reads with Batho-Pele Principles and Corporate Governance Regulations 18(3),
You performed an act that constituted an offence and you therefore stand accused           

of :

Unlawfully and intentionally sweeping my heart away on 2012/03/16 at 16:00,  On my birthday, on Sunday at 197 Mpopotwane Street, Sun Valley in  Mamelodi West, and alternatively stealing my soul on that day, time and   place.
                                              AND FURTHER….
  You unlawfully and intentionally, provocatively hijacked my feelings in broad    daylight, in full view of the people, and alternatively played continuously in
                         my dreams every 12:00 midnight from that day until present!

                                               (2) PLEADING:

Justice Romantic Romeo: How do you plead Ms Provocative Dishonest?
                                              Guilty or not guilty?

Ms Provocative Dishonest : , my Worship !

                                                   (3) FINDINGS:

Justice Romantic Romeo  :    Guilty as charged! Guilty on all the charges!


Justice Romantic Romeo  :  Since you pleaded guilty to all the charges,
                                                 I will slap you with this light sentence:

                                               (1) Be the apple of my eye and my lover for life!
(2) With NO PAROLE and NO LEAVE TO APPEAL for this sentence, be the keeper of my dreams!
                                               (5) COURT ADJOURNS:

Justice Romantic Romeo  : All stand up in court !The court is adjourned, 
                                                And we will live  happily ever after.

Long poem by David William Breidenthal | Details |

You Were Only Feeling For Game

CHORUS: I can see you in the reflection of the waters behind closed eyes…
It’s crystal clear that you were this dark, fallen angel all over again – how did I know you became so corrupted? I’m sorry this happened to you, yet I don’t feel guilty for what you’ve done
You haven’t won this battle between us – I will not listen to your lies
I remember how I used to orbit around you as if I was the sun, orbiting the Earth…don’t ignore the pain that is going to eventually drive us insane – we will run hand in hand in the glistening sun

Every shard of you and I’s memories shatter unto the ground without a sound
You left me out of nowhere – you don’t feel for me…you were only feeling for game
Tell me – did you even imagine our relationship working out perfectly and peaceably? You were spellbound and I was gravity-bound…we were once lost, but never found
You dropped me unto the floor as if I was useless like rubbish on the ground…as if I was lame…
Be careful what you wish for
What’s behind the closed door?
You open in curiosity
I see you wandering around sheepishly…
Now who’s the lame one?
Now, who’s the trash in the trash can?
Who has gone missing? Who has won?
I caught you by surprise…now, you’re as hot as the bottom of a pan
After it’s heated by fire…
You pushed you down and I caused your demise…I pushed you into that death cart
All because of my desire
To get rid of the disgrace marked in the core of my heart…it’s not my fault that you decided to depart
You decided to depart from the arms of peace-abiding angels
Instead, you fell victim to the arms of discord-weaving devils

CHORUS: I can see you in the reflection of the waters behind closed eyes…
It’s crystal clear that you were this dark, fallen angel all over again – how did I know you became so corrupted? I’m sorry this happened to you, yet I don’t feel guilty for what you’ve done
You haven’t won this battle between us – I will not listen to your lies
I remember how I used to orbit around you as if I was the sun, orbiting the Earth…don’t ignore the pain that is going to eventually drive us insane – we will run hand in hand in the glistening sun

I was out of my mind when I was infatuated with you with a gutter mind
You were the best thing I never could grasp…it sucked to be at that moment when you left me in the dust & you blew things into proportion 
I wanted you to the extreme and you ruined everything I once loved – are you out of your mind? Are you a hopeless romantic individual that’s really, really blind?
Don’t underestimate the powers I hold in my hands…you turned into a wolf in sheep’s clothing – I’m through with you and your thoughtless actions…I n-need a portion
I need a portion of Your satisfaction…
Give me a fraction…where shall I begin when my mind is pilin’ high with sin?
Of your peace of mind, Oh Lord of Accord…
I-I cannot afford…losing contact with you again…where have you been? 

You haven’t won this battle between us – I will not listen to your lies
I can see you in the reflection of the waters behind closed eyes…

But, my father kept telling me in my ears:
There is always a rainbow after a rainstorm, though that rainbow may not appear for many, many years

Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

For Years

For Years !!!

Four years have been on the run, on the wane
and yet, I still feel your beauty, still feel the pain
that came with – an end – the end you made me aware,
of, we, will no longer be, from then on, I’ve lived in despair,
missing your Asian Beauty, your Oriental Charm,
that did, once upon a time, hang tightly onto my arm.

Now it is all gone, fading upon the pages of history.
The joys, the pleasures, the closeness are but a story
of a love that may not have been more than an illusion
of my blind desire, I was willing to accept the delusion,
live within the mystery of your dark and beautiful eyes,
accept the reality, of seeing you create, so many blue skies.

Four years have been on the run, on the wane,
all that I know, is, being your friend, I will gain
– every once in a while – an opportunity to spend
a little time with you, bask in the light of my dream,
a dream I have watched, into outer space, you send,
as I sit on the edge of it and watch it float downstream.

Yet this old man cannot seem to let go of his desire
to have you rekindle the flame, setting his heart a fire
with all that beauty, beauty that he came to know
as he touched, tasted, experienced what you did and did not show.
This I do know !, I love you still, and it seems that I always will.
It was too short, never had a chance to matured, I never got my fill.
Four years have been on the run, on the wane,
and my heart still bleeds, pouring down like rain.
All that remains, are the visions I see in my head !
This fills my heart, my soul - my spirit, it has not fed.
I live with the knowledge, nothing I will be, but your friend.
This, I will carry to my grave, for me, you will never end.

I still see you coming in ecstatic waves, upon my black sea,
knowing, consciously, that with you again, I will never be.
This, within, is a deep sadness that is hard to overcome, for me,
yet I should know ?, as every time we are together, soon you flee,
leaving me behind, and all that remains or traces of your shadow,
a shadow that lingers behind, etched upon the pain of my window.

Four years have been on the run, on the wane.
Like it was yesterday, I still I feel you, but such a strain
upon the eye, the door that opens into the heart of my soul.
A soul that lived a life time of heart ache, heart ache it doth know
only to well, as memories of a checkered past, weigh, like lead
upon my hours, upon my days and like you, constantly fill my head.

In my mind’s eye, I see you often, so many reflections
drift across the mirrored surface of my recollections.
Is that mirror, in a carnival fun house ?, depicting distortion ?,
where all the images I perceive, are not but, states of contortion.
I often wonder ?, why an old man hangs on, so tightly, to a young dream,
long after the actress has played her last scene upon the big screen.

Four years have been on the run, on the wane,
and I do know, I will never know your beauty again,
except in the deep dark recesses of my memory’s hoard
where all the adventures, the moments we shared are stored.
Can it be ?, a hopeless, helpless romantic am I.
Have I been out of my element ?, trying to reach for the sky.

B. J. “A” 2
July 13th 2014

Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

A Love Letter to My Friends of India

When I think of India, I think of dark eyed beauties, their foreheads painted with decorative red dots, and I see them moving deliciously in beautiful bright costumes as bangles dangle from their slender wrists. When I think of India, I think of a culture steeped in history and tradition: folkloric music, myths, and dance, and the influence of the Hindu religion. I visualize the rich and poor alike bathing themselves in a river called Ganges. I see an olden time when mighty elephants, colorfully decorated, carried men atop their backs on elegant elephant seats, and I recall pictures in my geography studies of the white sacred cows freely roaming the narrow streets of Delhi. I recall a novel I read: Rudyard Kipling’s engrossing tale of a jungle boy and also other novels depicting a clash of cultures as the British imposed their rules on Indian society. I think of current movies showing the seedy side of India such as one named Slumdog Millionaire and a movie to contrast it, the romantic Bollywood delight named JabTak Hai Jaan. Furthermore, I recall the grace and good nature of the Indian people depicted in a film called The Best Ever Exotic Marigold Hotel. When I think of India, I think of the Taj Mahal, Kama Sutra, and curry, and also I recall horrible stories of Bride burnings now banned and by contrast, the good works of Mother Teresa, who labored there among the poor, and I think of the man who is probably the most recognized by Americans as a good and strong example of leadership: Mahatma Ghandi. All these things are the sum of what I have learned about India in my lifetime. But what do I really know of India? What I have learned recently relates to poets I have come to know at this website and who have shown me through their poetry and their communication with me, a more personal side of the Indian people that I never used to know. Through the poetry of Ravindra I have learned the love of an Indian for his heritage and how he emulates his father‘s work through beautiful translations. From poets like BL and Jag, I’ve learned more about the deep and philosophical nature of the Indian poet! Through great friendships with people like Kashinath, Yesha and Yasmin, and Guatami I have come to learn about the actual personalities of dear Indian people whose life experiences, struggles and desires are not so different from my own, and also I am able to enjoy their eloquent words as they describe their own emotions, passions, and love of nature through their poetry. Perhaps their culture adds a flavoring to their words and phrases that is a bit different from my own, but in the end, we are all alike beneath the skin. Whether from India or any other country, we are, all of us, becoming a part of a global community in which our differing backgrounds can be accepted and even better - celebrated! Thank you I say to all my poet friends whose words enrich my life, but in particular, today I thank my friends from India, for helping me to really see how beautiful you are and to understand your country better through knowing YOU.

Long poem by Mimi Machakaire | Details |


We all have fantasies 
Some have imagined what it would be like to be different. To live differently, to talk differently and maybe even dress or act differently. Most of which are kept secretly but all are described so beautifully
At times our fantasies are put into the hands of experts in design. When they are completed they are shown to others with wide eyes. We see what the creators have done and how accurate they were. We watch as our favorite fantasies are played on screen while they await the answer. We tell them what mistakes they have made or how brilliant it has been replayed. We ask others what they thought and later admire how much has been bought. 
We entrust someone with our deepest fantasy in some occasions. We assume they will keep it secret, we assume no one else will know but then before we know it our very own fantasy beings to flow. We are devastated in the destruction this secret that was supposed to be a fantasy has caused. It may even feel as though the real world has been paused. We tell ourselves we will be more cautious, more discreet but then someone else may come along and lift us off our safety seat.  
However some fantasies are written down and hope that they will be found. We think of names, titles, peoples and places. While some admire the anxiety on our faces. we allow our fingers to travel across blank pages, telling stories in various stages. We write and write until our fingers are sore, then we look over what we’ve done hoping that it is not a bore. Then we publish what we would not have said aloud and allow others to guess what’s true.  In the mean time we sit again and start anew. 
Others have fantasies of travel and exploration. They think of what it would be like elsewhere and discover new temptations. They work and work until they have what they need in order to fulfill they’re special greed. Once they have managed to experience what life is like in another place, they might think twice about returning to their original space. Though there are times when one is grateful for what they have today but they are still able to describe the place they have been to in a very unusual way.
Then there are those who fantasize about what life would be like with someone else whom they love. They desperately attempt to capture what they assume is a precious gift sent from up above. They see their loved ones every day while they think of clever yet romantic things to say. They hope that cupid has done his job right at the same time keeping unwanted visitors out of sight. Whereas this particular fantasy can turn out to be either a lifelong happy ending or soon to be bad memory that’s just pending.
Fantasies can do strange things to the mind of a human being. They sometimes make us question what we have been seeing. We have a habit of comparing the real world to what we see in our mind but then there are some, who have a talent of creating a compromise. They see how best they can live out their wildest fantasy but at the same time trying not too loose sight of reality. 

Long poem by SILENCE ZVARAYA | Details |

90 years younger

As my old eyes search for the setting sun,
My mind is at work,
Mending the million fragmented memories.
The long arm of my mind,
Retrieves the first dusty diary,
from the tallest of shelves.
Now ninety years have passed,
My  weary  body  struggling  to  stand  on  its  own.
But the strength of the heart is always unfading.
Now it is stronger than it was before,
It stands on its own,
as it searches everywhere for your voice.
My treasure chest is full,
of  the  dozens  of  letters  you  wrote  for  me .
Every time  I  read  them  my  memories  grow  young,
My heart was ever well living in the velvet of this love.
Then came our first night together.
Lonely in love, I could not wait for you,
to rest your head on my chest,
 under the full sight of the moon,
You  reading  from  the  book  of  your  future  and  dreams.
I feel now the night we first made love,
It all started with a quiet conversation in a candlelit room,
I didn`t want to let go,
The glow of your beauty,
Eclipsed the light of the candle,
The flame of our desire flying.
Now  I  watch  the  candle  come  to  life  in  the  night,
Its flame gives the reflection of your beauty,
I carry the immortal faint smile,
Watch it until it dies out.
In my salad days,
I saw a lot of beautiful girls, but none compared to you,
It really made me dig deep in the mine of my emotions,
For that something I only found in you.
Sometimes I play some old love songs,
And let my mind quietly wonder,
In the forest of the lost memories.
I  try  to  bring  together  the  million  pieces  every  afternoon .
But as the sun sets,
the almost complete mirror falls to the ground,
to a million pieces again.
Because this is the most precious of the times,
we spent together,
Gazing with relief and sympathetic eyes,
at the tired setting sun,
It was romantic like a poem,
A tuneful song.
I see the young generation of   today,
They try serenading.
But  their  songs  are  not  as  deep  as  ours .
Not everlasting as the ones we sang.
They also talk and walk,
The Romeo and Juliet way,
But it is not as old and untamed,
As the original by Shakespeare. 
The way you talked, smiled,
and sometimes remained quiet gazing, defined art.
In your own way you were a magician,
Everything you touched turned gold,
You touched my heart,
Now care more about your grandchildren. 
You etched something,
On the deepest part of my heart,
Every day I fall in love with you.
It is as if I am sad now.
It  is  just  that  I  want  you  to  know ;
I am the luckiest man on this world.
May be  I  just  want  to  get  hold  of  something ,
Something more than memories.
Even though you are now gone,
As I promised;
I will jealously hold on to these memories.
To this love, old and deep.
I hope there is place up there,
Where we can hold each other again.
I am not grieved.
No hard feelings for Mother Nature.
She gave us more than she can take from us.
It seems I am now waiting for death.
I hope you carried those cherry moments with you,
Because soon somewhere we shall meet,
And fall in love again.

Long Poems