I write of love, the kind that never dies
That gleams with beauty in a lover's eyes
I write of love, the kind that conquers death
That while it lives, it perfumes every breath
I write of love that grants its loved one peace
That opens passion's gate in sweet release
I write of love that changes not with time
That makes each day a taste of the sublime
I write of love that gives no cause for doubt
That guards its treasure, keeps invaders out
I write of love that takes over the soul
That gives of self to make the other whole
I write of love that thrills at lover's touch
That melts resolve while craving more of such
I write of love that draws the loved one near
That will protect and die for what is dear
I write of love that burns as it consumes
When bloom of youth has faded, it resumes
I write of love that rivals strength of sun
That glows brighter than stars when day is done
Would that I'd tasted such a love as this
A love that speaks in ardent lover's kiss
I write of love, for what else can I do
but wait and yearn to find this love in you.
Eileen Manassian
April 25, 2025
My darling girl, why leave this world so soon
when brilliance of your sun has not reached noon?
My precious girl, why did you say goodbye?
In bloom of youth, you were not meant to die
Your smile could charm the angels up above
Your words were soft and gentle, filled with love
Your eyes could sparkle brighter than a star
Why take the hand of Death and travel far?
When you were here, we longed to be near you
There was a sweetness there and comfort too
Your presence filled our hearts with happiness,
for in your soul resided tenderness
God loved you, so He spared you tears and woe
You're safe within His arms, this much I know!
This world has nothing more than pain to give
When Christ returns, eternal life you'll live
You are at peace; we are the ones in strife
Who'll take the place of daughter, sister, wife?
The burden of your loss is hard to bear
We miss your warmth and tender-hearted care
But Death will one day die, and we will see
you rise in glory, Queen of Victory!
On Resurrection Day, in warm embrace
we'll hold you close and kiss your angel face.
The misty evening will be departing soon,
Leaving but a memory of the summer moon;
As the sunlit halls were golden for a day,
Then Sol died of grief in a dusky display!
Moments dance by with the memory of rose,
It's petals scattering by, as the wind blows;
And days grow fervid, and the days grow cold,
While the bloom of youth finally grows old.
The lavender sky has once more turned to blue,
Yet last evening's recall, still rings so true,
And smoke drifts by, on its mysterious journeys,
With the echoing sounds of beloved melodies!
Mom captured my truth,
As a sixties flower child,
Yet in bloom of youth!
The above sketch was, of course, done by my late mother when I was a teenager.
~ Down Memory Lane ~
My heart took a stroll
down Memory Lane
Primed for pleasure
it found only pain
Broken hearts strewn
'cross the highway
Words that slipped out
for them dearly paid
Faces grown old
once again young
The bloom of youth withered
in serpentine tongues
As my journey of Hope
drew to an end
I waved fond goodbye
to these cherished friends
Virgin Pure, Untouched By Evil In Men
Where sun has fallen down in land so fair
hides a lone tombstone hidden in woods deep.
Death had caught a beauty so very fair,
that all three - Sun, sky and wind sadly weep.
Shining, in bloom of youth and quite carefree
she of the forest glen had Nature's love.
Her tender heart she had given to me,
now her heart and sweet soul rests far above.
Weeping willows, pond where white flowers thrive
I see her wading its magical scenes.
Dear mercy! If only she were alive
instead of buried there, in her late teens!
In night dreams, I see her in forested glen.
Virgin pure, untouched by evil in men.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-02-2018
Sonnet, (Death Of The Enchanting Forest Maiden)
(Youth is Wasted on the Young)
Oh, to be young again,
and have your arms wrap me
in bear hug warmth,
in breath-stealing squeeze,
as I taste morning coffee and cream.
So cold the cup rim,
and how flat the flavor bine,
without the channel
of your steamy lips.
But fiction you are, our Juliet, unborn,
mere humans find love so hard to portray,
thus leading many to their death, astray,
fear not a Romeo is born each day.
Childless children be not to death forsworn.
Why leave the bloom of youth in this dark way?
To these false examples swear not, allay ...
these foolish gestures and stay unmourned.
What care true love for false sacrifice's knife
or petal poisons made by perverse form,
live and brave the days with courage cajoled.
Oh, waylay the cowards path, leave your grief,
for grief will come to all within life's storm;
live a full life linger for life is gold.
She is the queen of words who sits
Serenely at her desk and contemplates
How she can compose to show her wit
And put an end to their debates,
With all the tales she relates.
There was a time when her fecund mind
Whetted by the bloom of youth could bind
Her inspirations, to spin a yarn,
A touching tale so carefully designed
That life’s rhythm would her page adorn.
Her pen is poised, waiting for words
To sing her praise and clear her name.
Her chignon finds rest at her nape, silver cords
There bind. She dreams of fame –
Struck, she whispers ‘life can drive you insane.’
The pen falls plop, on her mahogany desk
She knows now there’s nothing left to risk
Except the stories that warm her heart
And it would only make her sick
If from her they should depart.
A single translucent pearl,
drifts down a wizened cheek,
from eyes where dreams still swirl.
In a body weak with age,
The mind paces it's cage.
As memories still speak,
a single translucent pearl,
drifts down a wizened cheek.
The bloom of youth long gone,
yet remembered is its song.
From eyes where dreams still swirl,
as memories still speak.
A single translucent pearl,
drifts down a wizened cheek.
***Inspired by Dr. Ram, with his introducing
the Sonnetina Respetto.
I interpreted the line and rhyme scheme
as such:
A1,A2,B1,c,c,B2,A1,A2,d,d,B1,B2,A1,A2
A1,A2,B1,B2 are refrain lines
then: 1,2,c,d are rhyme scheme.
I realize my interpretation is wrong
from the original created form.
This is but my interpretation.
You are more than just family,
You are a necessity of life.
Youve been there for me when i needed you the most.
You were practically my personal host.
We have shared so many laughs and smiles.
Even when we were miles apart,
we still talked at heart.
Im the flower that need your rays to live,
the sunshine that i need to stand.
So many fun times,
make so many rhymes...
You're there to pick me up when i fall,
and then we made a prank call..
You were the one to show how to prance,
then you took me on that floor and danced!
We had telepathy,
I SWEAR!!!
Especially those moments we could not bear..
You are always there for me,
always making me happy.
Coming with me to the mall,
running down the bathroom hall!!
But im going to tell you the truth....
i had fun in that photo booth!!
we still act like we are at the bloom of youth.
but sadly....thats the truth.
our memories in the basement,
they are ancient!!
this is more than cousinly love.
its above that point.
we could never disjoint.
what else can i say?
youve showed me the way.
youve helped me sway.
your more than family,
your a necessity!
T he birds have been around for centuries.
H ow sweetly singing, winging on their way,
E vanescent as a summer breeze. . .
B ringing bliss supreme; then gone one day.
I n your bloom of youth, one bird appears.
R adiant, you’ll soar to splendor’s height,
D runk with joy till passion disappears.
S tung by love undone, you’ll face your plight.
A las, your bird has turned into a bee.
N aïve no longer, you have felt love’s sting.
D evoted love you’ll seek as remedy!
T hough you’ll wish to hear a new bird sing,
H eartache may await. You must recall
E ventually sweet passion’s birds become. . .
B ees! How can you know real love at all?
E yes open, you must seek a faithful one;
E phemeral are the birds and yes, the bees.
S till they will persist for centuries!
FOR PD's Acrostic II Contest
BTK is a club they join
it means "below the knee"
one of the less horriffic states
of being an amputee
The price that's paid by many troops
on battlefields 'round the globe
uniforms of camoflauge
become pajamas and a robe
They learn a whole new language
prosthetics is their word
introducing them to a world
of things they wish they'd never heard
Taking their courage far afield
to keep the enemy from our shore
losing the bloom of youth and health
surrendered up forevermore
We should be proud of these disabled Vets
they stood willing to give it all
now incomplete, missing arms and feet
after answering their nation's call