I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. My words and notions will I hope respond in poetic verse of many genre and style. Come along and please share your ideas and insights. Thank you for your visit.

Posts tagged “the rains

What Is Left Of A Dream


What once would be a smile,

is a soft yearn,

a quiet response

while the mind

could wish for play,

a sign,

some indication

might always allow

sweet recall,

her light

he would lose himself

if not for love,

if only this passageway,

her desire, a passion,

no longer readily

sworn to the moment,

the need

is forgotten.

 

There are the rains,

a gentle remind.


Watching The Rains Speak


I listened,

the drops upon my conscious soul

spoke to a memory,

a time when we would know

the forever could always remain.

In the rains,

I could recall,

when cradled in her arms, my lips touching sweet skin,

soft her gasp,

a yearn

trace

hers were mine,

our fingertips

intertwine,

… and the rains they fell in line.

 

I remember knowing this was

where I belonged,

only wishing she did feel the same.

 

The rains became our silence.


While Taking A Walk


I thought about reason,

for we always seem to want the wonder

accompanies our passions,

our impulses,

our dedicated desire.

 

I remember as a child with eyes of wonder,

just glancing toward a forest,

wondering the depths, beyond the surface design,

and I knew I might never understand,

until stepping inside, gingerly,

mother nature of course would wish

this humanity be mindful.

 

I thought about time,

and it continued to pass me by

even if standing still,

I recognize this is where I belong.

 

In the confusion of a certain philosophy,

we might all know our truths

are meant to  embrace love

in respect to a societal suggestion,

lets our hearts unveil the wondrous passion

that exists in a quiet solace,

only to be recognized in the shortest of dreams,

those meant to contain infinite parallels.