Lady Labyrinth Poet Free verse

Tomorrow

"Tomorrow"



I put my hand on your heart
You put your hand on my heart
A tender plot written in 3 lines

Nothing said
Nothing missed
Nothing guessed

Revolvers shoot sharp silent guard
Piercing words are played like a golden harp
Love is no science 

Tomorrow begins it never ends

(LadyLabyrinth/2019)


















1. Dawn Chorus

1.1
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dawn_chorus_(birds)

1.2
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dawn_chorus_(electromagnetic)

1.2.1
The electromagnetic dawn chorus is a phenomenon that occurs most often at or shortly after dawn local time. With the proper radio equipment, dawn chorus can be converted to sounds that resemble birds' dawn chorus (by coincidence).

The electromagnetic dawn chorus is believed to be generated by a Doppler-shifted cyclotron interaction between anisotropic distributions of energetic (> 40 keV) electrons and ambient background VLF noise. These energetic electrons are generally injected into the inner magnetosphere at the onset of the substorm expansion phase. Dawn choruses occur more frequently during magnetic storms.

This phenomenon also occurs during aurorae, when it is termed an auroral chorus.

1.2.2 Aurora
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurora

1.2.3 Auroral Chorus
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auroral_chorus

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Ts Poetry January 11, 2020 at 9:51 PM One does not need much more than that xxx

James Swartz August 10, 2019 at 9:22 AM This is a perfect poem Leanne. I like how you start it loving and tender and keep it that way but add a little spark to show the lust with the love. And that line "tomorrow begins it never ends " is one of the best lines I've ever read. Lady Labyrinth August 10, 2019 at 9:53 AM Nothing is ever perfect in this life Swartz. But thank you for the honest compliment. Romance and Love are very important in our lives. Without Love, in itself, we are just empty souls and numb to what could be 'exceptional' and 'good' in our lives. If a person is fortunate enough to taste the icing, which is Romance, if only, for a short while, they are truly fortunate, they at least, then know something beautiful for 'transference' later on when the 'time is right'. But nothing in Life is ever perfect, and like a poem, it is either read and forgotten, criticised unmercifully and binned, or refined and kept close like a valuable treasure. I must be a 'Hopeless Romantic', or possibly a 'True Romantic'. I have boundless treasures, written, or not, that I hold very close.