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Sherry Bradley Poem
Let me touch
your furrowed brow
etched deep the painful trace
Apply the balm of peacefulness
raw memories erase.
Let me warm
the chill felt now
within your troubled soul
With soft caress and lover's kiss
retrieve the fire she stole.
Let me mesh
my heart with yours
unearthing treasures rare
Release the turmoil from within
and let me linger there.
Copyright © Sherry Bradley | Year Posted 2011
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Sherry Bradley Poem
The past scoops me up
and hovers over the depths of my emotions,
drawing the lines of reactions
and taking me closer to undoubted results.
Experience guides me,
ever reminding me of times gone by
and luring me only to predictable things to come,
somehow holding me captive,
allowing no room for wreckless chance.
How comforting, the familiar.
How foolish the secret desire
to venture into the stangeness
of new surroundings.
Yet, change is provocative.
A misty glimpse of things anticipated
but not now reality calls sweetly to me
causing the stirring of the unfamiliar
to quicken my spirit,
leaving me gently shaken, wanting more.
Copyright © Sherry Bradley | Year Posted 2011
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Sherry Bradley Poem
I cozy up...
the covers tight against my neck
not wanting the cold to seep down further
into my already shaking being
somehow blinded by the fact
the chill was begun deep and long ago
unable to shake the icy beast...
Sleep eludes me...
the tired body and drooping eyes seem
no match for the raging of remembered past
overtaking my thoughts and tormenting my future
dashing all hope of now forgotten peace...
disturbing the pretence of nightly rest.
Be still, my mind...
create a void, let peace instead
take hold of dark and captive stay
long past the morning's giving light,
replaced by dream's directions new
toward sweet tomorrow's warm embrace
pierce through the cold where calm awaits.
Copyright © Sherry Bradley | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Sherry Bradley Poem
When the sun sweet begins
to kiss the dark moon
and squirrels have spent
light's quickening play,
the shadows begin
to fall quiet much longer
pushing against
the deep shades of gray.
When bird's voices sing silent
awaiting the morn
and flowers fast lose
their colors display,
the sharp seems to soften,
the senses are straining,
pushing against
the deep shades of gray.
Copyright © Sherry Bradley | Year Posted 2011
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