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Yellow Poem
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The sun-yellow house seems smaller somehow,
regarding it now, with time-worn eyes...
The street seems narrower, and the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
there are new tract houses, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all been removed
But somehow we knew the house would remain....
As if seen from a distance, ...yet, still much is the same
There's an unfamiliar red tricycle, and a skate left behind
along flagstone pavers that wind to the door
It's a path that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...
As suddenly as wind, that springs from the dust
thirty years flew away, and fell into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise,
like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
_____
...Our first Christmas trees,. our first anniversaries...
The place where I cried long into the night,
as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...
Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
_____
Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white shutters
Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun
The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
Just a small yellow house, with snow-white shutters...
that sits 'round the bend, where the sycamore grew...
_________
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
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Yellow Poem
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Walking through the land of shadows
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues
The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the shadowy darkness
I heard a horrible sound
"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"
I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree
Light and color expanded
Traveling up straight to the skies
The entity that so scared me
Was right before my eyes
As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears
I then reached down to touch him
I told him that he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face
"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."
I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season
So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
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Yellow Poem
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She sings in soft tones,
her magic exists beyond the obvious.
Listen closely to her wanting,
She is wrapped in a trancendent light.
A dreamer,
chasing white rabbits.
Grasping for the infinite,
with delicate hands.
A moth,
Dances within her luminosity.
Flying on yesterday's wings,
carrying smiles that are meant for tommorow.
Witness her as she waits to exhale.
A daisy chain,
tied around her wrist.
A future promise to be kept.
For within her spirit,
exists a burning passion!
She waits for one who is worthy,
of her consuming flame
Although she is unaware,
hers is a temporary sadness.
Happiness flirts at the edge of her dreaming,
waiting for an open window.
His shadow hidden behind frosted glass.
Shades of green,
turn brilliant yellow!
Buttercups dance around her feet.
Her laughter floats across the meadow,
as happiness runs to her open arms.
Together they skip, towards her apple tree.
For hers is a faith that trancends the temple.
Her spirit sought and found salvation.
He had been with her all along,
I can see it in her smile.
The rain has passed and sunshine now resides in her eyes!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014
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Yellow Poem
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This morning I wrote a poem
about a yellow heart
pining for red fusion,
in a desperate attempt
to shake the fruit
that never
falls
And tonight I am alone
without tangerine lips
or the temptation of apple,
carefully watching familiar verses
unravel themselves
and fanatically dance around
like a final punctuation mark
or an overused cliche,
while my hands whittle metaphors
into a quick-witted instrument
sharp enough to scrape
the smeared imagery
off the sidewalk of poem,
Still I am not sorry
the fruit has not
fallen
to kiss my weary head,
it takes an overly cautious yellow
to see the perfect shade of red
Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2006
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Yellow Poem
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The lake was still sleeping
a light mist rose above,
a weathered dock could be seen,
its aged wood; full of memories.
The air crisp, breeze light,
trees majestic; watching all.
Squirrels busy scampering,
as a flock of geese soared above.
Way over yonder
clear across the still lake,
shining brightly were yellow shutters,
on our cabin; our special place.
We had toiled the garden
planted yellow roses with great care,
we had painted the old wood shutters,
yellow paint; speckled our hair.
The roof we re-shingled,
one painstaking nail at a time,
we even counted the ouches;
when our hammers got out of line.
With nothing but smiles
on our weary, aching bodies,
we held hands, and went running,
into the still of the lake; giggling.
We swam out to the dock,
it was a race; he won,
my hand he took laughing;
as he quickly scooped me up.
Our toes dangled playfully
sending ripples in the lake,
as we gazed at our cabin;
yellow shutters; fresh with paint.
The trees swayed slightly
as if nodding with approval,
for our cabin by the lake,
was our private sacred jewel.
As we cuddled together
warmth filled our souls,
for our bright yellow shutters,
symbolized, our love's blossoming growth.
It was on this very dock,
air crisp, breeze light,
when he gave me a yellow rose;
and asked me to be his wife.
Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006
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Yellow Poem
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Come an' pick yerself an apple,
Come an' pick a heapin' load;
Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel
An' a couple fer the road.
There's a dozen different sizes,
Pink an' yella, red 'r lime,
Shades that match the pale sunrises
Of the apple pickin' time.
Go an' make an apple pie,
Make it thirty miles high,
Then you'll be in apple heaven
Till the day you up an' die.
Come an' pick yerself an apple,
Come an' pick a heapin' load;
Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel
An' a couple fer the road;
Some for Gran and Uncle Pete,
An' a few fer fighting crime;
'Cause the fella down the street
Knows it's apple pickin' time.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
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Yellow Poem
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SUMMER SUNSHINE - "Sonnetina Rispetto"
Thank you Lord for this golden day,
This sweet sunshine that smiles my way,
This warm wind wafting through the grass,
That makes my heart dance in delight;
Thank you Lord for this summer light,
That bids bulrushes burn as brass;
Thank you Lord for this golden day,
This sweet sunshine that smiles my way;
Thank you Lord for these birds that sing
A lovely welcome this morning,
This warm wind wafting through the grass,
That bids bulrushes burn as brass;
Thank you Lord for this golden day,
This sweet sunshine that smiles my way.
----------------------------
14th May, 2016 (posted on 15th May)
{Dedicated to Anna-Lise - the Sunshine Smile of Poetry soup and one of my first friends here}
{Thank you Dorian for your lovely poetry form}
{Thank you Peter Duggan - your poem "How wonderful it is" inspired me to try out this new form}
(The "Sonnetina Rispetto" is a new poetry form
created by Dorian Petersen Potter
on September 8,2009.
This form has 14 lines with 8 syllables each.
It can be written in 3 quatrain stanzas and a couplet or
with an Octave(8) and a Sestet(6) lines.
The rhyme scheme is as follows: A1,A2,B1,c,c,B2,A1,A2,d,d,B1,B2,A1,A2.
The capitals A1,A2,B1 and B2...stands for the refrain lines in the poem.
Any subject)
Copyright © Jo Daniel | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
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Zanthoxylum shrubs with clustered yellow flowers,
Yolks of eggs and yellow jackets make her want to scream.
Xanthophobia ensnares her. It is sickening
Wakening to an aureate dawn’s bright rays.
Vehemently she shakes!
Ubiquitous are sunny days; she much prefers the clouds.
They keep her safe from light and her anxiety at bay.
Secluded in her rose pink room, she stays inside,
Rarely venturing outside except at eventide.
Quick is she to greet fast-falling snow.
Pedestrians abandon streets. Then she likes to go
Out to see the colored world buried in tranquility,
Nauseated she becomes just seeing people eat
Macaroni’s yellowish cheese, all things buttery,
Lemon cakes, bananas, mustard. It is a feat
Keeping herself calm. Sometimes she panics.
Jaundiced skin can do her in.
In many cases, she turns to Xanex.
Hideous to her is this disease,
Growing, never slowing. Even therapy
Fails to help. Whatever can she do?
Emotionally frazzled, living with unease when
Dandelions, daisies or ducks come into view.
Corn, baby chicks, and girls that she has seen
Bleached a brilliant bombshell blonde so bold!
All of it - florescent dreams - are nightmares laced in gold.
For the First Ever ZYX Contest sponsored by John Lawless
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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Yellow Poem
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A child with a crayon can color an imaginary world,
With dolls of mommies, daddies, boys and girls,
Full of horses, cowboys, cars and trains,
Can scratch them out and draw them all again,
Color me a rainbow with a pot of gold,
Color me a fairy with ribbons and bows,
Paint my face, a bright yellow sun,
In a green grassy field where a blue river runs,
With mountains and trees set in a colorful scene,
Monkey bars, teeter-totters, an old tire swing,
Color my face with a bright happy smile,
In a wonderful world, if only for awhile,
I can pretend my life is happy and gay,
Not worry about the mean stuff, just for the day,
Not worry about what I will eat, or where I will sleep,
Or the cockroaches and rats that make me creep,
Color me a family with brothers and sisters,
Color me a man to call Daddy, not Mister,
Color my mom in a bright yellow dress,
Stretched in a hammock under a tree with a nest,
In the yard of the house, we can call our own,
With neighbors on each side of our lovely home,
Color my dreams carefree and wild,
Color my life always as a child,
Color me a father, color me a Dad,
Color me the life that I never had.
Color me a garden with fruits of all kinds,
Apples, pears with grapes on the vine,
Color me a crayon that’s really a crayon,
Not this old sharpened pencil that I just found,
To draw my picture on this brown paper bag,
That was once filled with gin and Ole’ Granddad,
Now, Dream me a dream…Once upon a time,
I had a real father that I can call mine!
Copyright © Steven Miller | Year Posted 2006
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Yellow Poem
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Walking through the land of shadows, wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step, I created color and lovely hues
The shadows started retreating as colour permeated the ground
Out of the shadowy darkness I heard a most horrible sound
"You sir do not belong here so I command you to go away
You are in the land of shadows, you must listen to what I say!"
I kept on moving forward not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from? I looked behind a tree
Light and color expanded, to the dark sky it did rise
The entity that so scared me was revealed before my eyes
As my shoes banished the darkness, the entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows he could't tap into my fears
As I reached down to touch him I told him he was safe
He looked up with such confusion as I gazed upon his face
"Are you here to destroy me? Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows they create hope for brighter days."
I heard what he was saying, yes shadows have a reason
In order for spring to come, we need a darker season
So I removed my yellow shoes, watched as the shadows returned
It was time to head for home with this strange lesson I had learned
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
|
* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.
Little Yellow Socks
by Amy Swanson 12/5/2008
Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!
Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.
Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!
Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.
Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.
Copyright © Amy Swanson | Year Posted 2008
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Yellow Poem
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You made me love yellow flowers
in the middle of July,
when everything was dying
because the ground was so dry.
You offered them to me
with the faintest smile on your face,
caressed the lemon petals
as you put them on display.
I looked at them quizzically,
questioning there presence.
You embraced me with laughter,
said they’re my essence.
You told me a short story
of blossoms and blooms,
and strength and survival,
in the midst of gloom.
And I fell in love with yellow flowers
because of the story you shared,
and I cherished their sunshine,
and the meaning they bared.
And then they were gone.
Along with you
and your stories and smile.
No laughter or embrace.
No petals or blooms,
sunshine or lemons.
The ground was dry
and cracked
and barren.
And I was alone,
with just a fading scent
and drifting memories.
You made me love yellow flowers,
then you took them away.
copyright 2017 rapsedeblu/'raps?de blü
Just a writer who needs to write.
Copyright © Rapsede Blu | Year Posted 2017
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Yellow Poem
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“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot
A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one
As green, as golden.
Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013
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Yellow Poem
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Yellow Joy
Bright, yellow, fun balloons rise up in air,
bring optimistic and good-humored flair.
With cheerfulness, enthusiasm share
a brilliant, yellow, sunshine-like affair.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: United Colors: Yellow
Sponsor: Silent One
Picture #1 - Balloons
Judged: 03/04/2016
Positive keywords for yellow: optimism, cheerfulness, enthusiasm, fun, good-humored
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
|
The Daffodil, peeks at the yellow rays of the Morning Sun
She raises her head :through the withering snow mound : with Dazzling Beauty
The Daffodil , Sings in harmony; Arise for I am : the Spring
The Golden weed, the Dandelion , reflects the yellow Halo Floating in the Sky
Knowing Life is short ,the Dandelion dots the Summer landscape
With Her Halo turning White, She calls the Wind and flies through the rays of the Sun
Goldenrod waits until summer is nigh o’er before waving elegantly
To the Yellow orb, warming her roots, She melodiously Sings Forever be Your Glory
The Goldenrod , humbly Hums Hymns : to the very Eye of a Loving GOD
Yellow Roses speak of the Memories : “watching the grass “Sportsman’s WAVE””
She sees the Glory of Nature : more Beautiful with each Magnificent : Sunrise
Yellow Roses, petals so Silky Soft, holding in “ Remembrance “ a long Lost “ LOVE “
The “ AquaRose “ that Grows, in the deep Caribbean Sea “4 miles North of Aruba”
Screams For the Sun, from her watery Grave, Yet she shines in a sea of “ Sapphire
" Blue "
The Depth of the “Blue sea, the Blue Sky above” Shadow the glow of Sweet
" Sunshine "
Inspired by the Contest : " Flowers " : Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Dedicated To my LOVES : " Barbara Jean " & " Lenore Ellen "
Author's Note : I Hope this is Read the way it was Written
YOUR Liege ALWAYS, LOVE : HGarvey Daniel Esquire
7th Place win
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2011
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Yellow Poem
|
I always feel like a prisoner in the winter, banished from the outside by the jealous wind. As I get older, I continue to make peace with the cold, but I follow the spring. It is a different door, one covered with vines and stars, and to it I am drawn, as if to a beautiful girl.. no other days compare to her.
The flash of a disposable camera, clicked with young fingers, pink-polished nails. A yellow sun dress patterned with orange daisies. The basket on the bike is filled with stuff for lunch, sodas and sandwiches and things. Laughter resounds over the tops of trees as we careen, the children of May, across the sun-spotted road.
The compass points north
You know, this is Saturday
That means we go east
You yell to me that I run too fast, but all I hear is my heartbeat in my ears. I look back, you run faster. The evening begins to cast a spell in our town; the colors purple and orange appear like watercolor in the sky and we both stop to watch. Vapor trails crisscross above us, they're streaks across the fading day, pieces of the memories we've made.
Heat lightning at night
She's reading a magazine
Sarah's rare green eyes
To your door we go, but only you proceed. Your father doesn't trust me yet, but I tell you that I'll try harder. Maybe, one day, he'll give me a pat on the shoulder and a smile. It does hurt, I won't deny, to listen to the screen door wheeze shut and hear your bounding footsteps on the stairs. What comforts me is that I know tomorrow brings you around again, walking through a high archway, lovely enough to steal the sun's attention from the flowers.
These suburban dreams
The pink and yellow houses
Waiting with my thoughts
-For Debbie Guzzi's "Spring Haibun" contest
Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2013
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Yellow Poem
|
Dancing flowers plop at fullest bloom
in the rustled yellow burnt fields.
It sways an echo after the winds
and hits the grass aside who sheilds.
The dawn casts its tangerine color
after the flattery feilds of Daisies,
and a child runs the sunrays of early dawn
to pick a daisy for her Aunt Stacey.
With her white tipped finger she pricks
herself with yellow honey substance
and tickels it under her nose for scent.
She runs out the fields to her aunt in instance.
She looked at her and smiled, patted her head.
Aunt Stacey spoke, "Honey go play for awhile and I'll meet you
back in." And the little girl ran out the door.
She put the daisy in a tiny vase where she admired it once more.
Copyright © brittany martin | Year Posted 2008
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Yellow Poem
|
Your yellow appears during
the darkest days
as you feel the black set in.
Being aware of your
instincts causes a chain reaction
that bleeds into nothingness,
blended below your tortured remorse.
You're scared, I know.
The trepidation crowds your self-worth.
You're sad, I know.
The truth of the matter is that your
foreboding crisis creeps outside the
color of your true essence.
Your essence is yellow.
Always has been, but you
could never feel your sunshine.
The daily struggle of haunting ghosts,
makes you relive the childhood
demons over and over again.
When you were born, you held
a golden locket in your heart.
When you were born, you held
a medallion inside your soul.
These shades made you...you.
And you...basked into the smiles
your mother gave you when in her arms.
Depression sets in during trials of
lost souls. The lost souls crowd around and
eat at your flakes of sanity.
Chemical reactions ignite, and somewhere
in between your despondency and agony,
the fire breaks through and you crave
the rain.
Your rain is full of satisfied contentment.
Your rain comes to an end,
and there it is.
Your sweet shades of insightful yellow.
I only have one wish.
That you could've seen your yellow,
before it was too late.
Good bye, my sweet, may you rest in peace...
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: March 21, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
|
melting, Red, hot in passion
imagine some try to ration
teasing, Orange, stimulating in pleasure
really do try and measure
laughing, Yellow, funny in humor
sadness here is a rumor
growing, Green, reflecting in nature
you the ever unique creature
soothing, Blue, calming in peace
come share a little piece
thinking, Indigo, evolving in wisdom
using mind to expand kingdom
tickling, Violet, rendering in imagination
such minds have no station
Copyright © Richard Martins | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
|
I caught
a yellow poem
in my hands, and
it fluttered like a
frighten flock of butterfly wings
Spreading its
yellow bright wings,
Then gliding across
a sea of gold,
we landed gently
as a ripple
on the pond
If yellow is
the brightest color
in the rainbow,
then, let me
chase a yellow poem
-- through your candlelight
If we land
with both feet
on the ground,
I wonder, why
we could not
catch a yellow
butterfly smile today
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2006
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Yellow Poem
|
Flaxen oars comb golden ripples as I set adrift into butterscotch fog-- my miracle has led me here
Alone, enchanted by soft canary light from a distant Tuscan sun I look to the honey glazed horizon
Leading me deeper into blonde bliss I follow the fire in my belly as it suffuses me with amber valor--
Neither dream nor destiny, as the wind carries the dandelions, soon reborn from a yellow chrysalis
March 3, 2016
~Photo #4
Copyright © Sam Jameson | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
|
Life embracing death in fire
Orange red yellow and brown
Moments hugging before departure
A colour bonanza in sundown
The oranges that you gave me
The tomatoes that I gave you
Nothing in fact in vain has been
Look at them in the autumn hue
Deep orange is the nature
In fading sad summer leaves
Dreams of the lingering life
Autumn wool bleeds and weaves
Crimson whispers of the cool wind
Into the yellow red and brown
Incites the autumn fire further
Freedom fire in the town
Starved of green I am in fall
Even in transit I am in love
With this green and yellow life
And your lovely lifeful cup
Glamour game of autumn fire
Golden brown and yellow balls
Colours of the laughing tear
To greet lovely tiny footfalls
______________________________
27/10/2016
Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016
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Yellow Poem
|
For a slice of splash
From the yellow and green sky
Through a chance window
Both you and I lie in wait
Sands of our blue time restless
______________________________________
20/10/2016
Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016
|
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Yellow Poem
|
Now the villager’s are waking from the dreams inside their heads,
They’re locking doors and windows, and they’re hiding in their beds;
It’s a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun…
You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone.
It’s a legend sprung to life, and it’s a horror story true,
You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too,
And the sound is getting closer till it’s beating in your bones,
And it’s hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones.
Yellow Rider coming
Through the early light of day,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Too late for you to pray.
And the Rider’s coming closer still you stay inside your room,
You’re looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume,
But you cannot see his face because it’s hidden by the brim,
Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him.
For it’s silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,
His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan,
And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France…
And there’s nobody escaping, everybody’s had his chance.
Yellow Rider coming
Like a bandit through the rain,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Till they echo in your brain.
Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came,
He’s taking someone with him and I will not tell his name,
But it’s either you or me or maybe someone else we know…
Now the Yellow Rider’s leaving as the sun begins to show.
And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors,
The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores,
And the villages will make believe he never came at all…
But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call…
Yellow Rider going,
And he’s taking someone new,
Someone we’re both knowing,
Is it me or you?
Is it me or you?
Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2009
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Yellow Poem
|
I remember a day I smiled at her
And she smiled back
That was miles away
down the road
We parted there
And I came back
to find her long gone
No trace, no note, no sign
I wondered if she
had hesitated before leaving
Was I worth a moment's reflection?
Does love escape so easily?
Can I hope for an equivalant peace?
I sat upon a stone
for an hour
On the deserted road
And reflected upon her existence
which so troubled me
How many have traveled
these worn paths?
Why do I see nothing
from horizon to horizon?
I smashed the stone
over my head
Hoping it would
ease the pain
No fresh thoughts
flowed; but merely,
a second of intense pain
which melted into anger;
and resolved to despair
Alone I sat
till the sun had buried itself
below the distant hills
A cloud pushed it down
I knew I might die there,
if I did not travel on
Death has no mercy
So I put my shoes on
and walked
There was music
in the distant hills
flowed through the leaves
Did I detect a sinister leer
across the moon's face?
I spat at the stars
Whose light shone on me
with such a total waste
Each step
towards those grey and black hills
brought a recurrence of
each burning memory
I had no solice in thought
I took off my shoes
as I stumbled over the gravel
Hoping the jabbing pain
of each stone's attack
would flavor my thoughts
I was embarrassed
even while being alone
For I knew I was a fool
Had I not held her tighter
Had I not dragged her
Had I not missed her
on a different road.
I had not
And I paid dearly
for a few moments
of unexcelled bliss
I spent six days walking
in silence
Not a soul passed me by
Only the crickets saluted my march-
or did they laugh at me
from their dark dens?
I tried sleepwalking
when the agony of thought
burnt too deep
But I bagan finding myself
wandering off the road
You need both eyes
to travel that road
I was close to death
one weary night
A night so weary
I was restless with exhaustion
When the darkness
reached out to grab me
And I nearly smiled
to see my end
A sudden flash!!
A gleaming yellow light
The dim flicker of hope
swelled at the
possibility
So I ran
with my last moment's breath
to embrace a beauty
which outshone my old love
Strength returned and
my feet were no longer sore
Love bloomed to heights
I never knew existed
Old loves and earlier horrors
were dispelled by her
shining yellow light
(continued on part two)
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
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