Long Lost lovelight Poems
Long Lost lovelight Poems. Below are the most popular long Lost lovelight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lost lovelight poems by poem length and keyword.
My light dims as it attempts to stay bright while trying to guide for someone,
The truth of the matter is once that light is out everything else is done.
A light can only show the way but only if that person whats to be found,
But if no one ever uses that light then the user will be left alone feeling like a clown.
People have a way of showing when they truly want something or just want out,
They also have a way of letting their fear control their emotions and the creation of doubts.
Yes...you hurt me and I haven't done anything to give you a reason to,
Though we both know I had every right if I chose to.
Loving a person with no catches seems to never be good enough anymore,
And a good man has to be twisted when there's a woman he actually adored.
That is what it seems like so that is what it must be,
Love has become not an act of emotion but an act that requires a fee.
Those who can't handle it will fear and escape by any means,
Fear is only a state of mind but to the untrained it will affect all their genes.
I don't expect everyone to possess the same amount of strength,
But I do expect for people to at least try to their very length.
Open my heart...I did and look where it got me,
In a case and a world full of trouble with a bold, italic, and a capital T.
I vow to never give up but for now I shall give in,
Give in only to remain alone at the moment while I try to succeed in this life of sin.
The key that opened my heart will always be cherished within,
I pray one day that key will return to open and recreate my light once again but for
now...fin (French for end)
Soft is light not seen;
like warm lips felt on dry skin,
that has slept many hours
and has only had darkness for dreams...
Black swirls, waves, splashes of nothing.
Sow sound is quiet that you forget how time is lengthened.
O sweeping light,
how do you peek through my window so filmed by occurring conversion,
that if my finger were to tap, a flutter of dust would glitter the room.
So many conversions...:
"Who was he..."
"Where you happy..."
"How could I have known..."
"What..."
"When..."
"Why..."
"Why."
Why.
My legs stay stiff as the slits of light linger on the ceiling;
watching me lay in this stained bed of quarrels, lust, sex, and love.
How can my head stay so still with all the many things going on inside.
Is this how thinking works?
Memories, questions, thoughts, random visions...not so random visions:
The way hair just sits on top of her eye lid before she wakes
and it flutters open calling my hand to remove it for her.
And then I watch for a moment as she smiles with eyes closed;
her thank you, and then my eyes closed satisfied.
My eyes are open now,
but it does not see the face it usually peers at
and the hand stays locked under my head confused.
I do not search though...for I know...
With all that just happened,
How can I make this just another day...
My stained glass image
was a ripe peach
with spilt Zinfandel
like electric rubies
pooling around a gentle ray.
It was a colour hungering
to weave spirit out of light,
so that all my prism
touched felt nothing
but the energy of day.
Then there was Love,
A star brighter than the sun,
halting Sol Invictus
and his fiery chariot
before Aphrodite’s temerity.
But Love’s luminosity burned
a fearful depth of heat
until all my eyes witnessed
was overexposed film
begging for clarity.
My stained glass design
mixed metallic salts
fortified at melting point,
colour forever permanent
to mark my very being.
You dipped your brush
on a pallet of your vision
and Trust let you paint over
my very soul,
creamy light forever fleeing.
Your paint, by the very nature
of it belonging to you,
curator of my love,
fused to my glass
as if cooked in a kiln of fire.
Never could I have believed
you to devise a colour
so terrible and diseased
that sickness would filter
where light used to transpire.
Stained glass window,
more true the words appear,
But where others fear
I can shatter my own
glass or heart or soul
and clean the tarnish
by leaving out every piece
you painted with twisted stroke
and amass myself together
until the colour of my light is whole.
A shadow on the wall,
my imagination,
or something real?
A flicker in the candlelight,
a demon,
or angel?
You've so confused me with wrong and right,
I can no longer discern the light and the dark,
You've upended my world.
Your touch is a damnable thing,
feather light on my cheek.
How you make me hate myself,
for embraces in the dark.
My skin still stinks of you,
your sweat and love.
As you stand at the foot of my bed,
I can imagine your slim form with wings,
spread in your triumph over me.
If only I could take your feathers away,
my angel,
my demon,
perhaps you would stay away,
no longer able to fly into my life,
corrupting my dreams.
Maybe when daylight breaks,
I will be able to see the color of your wings.