Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.189.30.7

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Boring is the passing of idle time,
when the day is long and the sunset delays
to dim down the taciturn sky with less luminous lights;
clouds have full brightness and incredibly become
whiter and brighter than they actually are...
I am in a solitary mood dragging the hours!

Grannies sit outside closely and chat incessantly
as if they were whispering, are they shamelessly 
telling each other the secrets of their youth that fled from time
as they kept them in those foolish and innocent hearts!
Are they bringing to mind those romantic affairs of naive girls?
Did they ever meet with their lovers in those secretive places?
grannies will chase away any intruder who seems to deride
their words and running from them Eddie falls on his butt, 
but the furious grandma chases him a few more yards
screaming, " Go to play basketball with Grant! " 

Too slow is the passing of idle time
by a river or by an ocean as if were there
to paint scenes on our empty canvasses,
deciding on shade and light according to taste
emotion and mood; is their little hope
for a masterpiece being displayed in a city museum...
but unexpectedly an offer may lift our set gloom! 

How many stories could girls reveal
gathered as the grannies having none to do;
are we willing to share them as they do...
without being prudent or feel any shame?
Aren't love secrets hidden within the pages 
of long letters never opened to sunlight fearing
the lashing words of mothers reminding
their daughters that " Sex is sacred and it's a flame
that unites two souls and makes them whole."   
And disciplining them with the rod of harshness, 
they become the nuns who choose deafening silence!

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required