I dream of love's great flood
a rolling wave of blood
with you a part
so gently tending
a flow of life
that has no ending

But when I wake alone
upon a wall of stone
the world is cold
now you have gone
I'm feeling old
as for you I long

Gathered flowers to gleam
when shared beside the stream
were picked too soon
drawn to my breast
by the mocking moon
with cruel behest

I dream of love's great flood
a rolling wave of blood

Thanks to The Mag


Brian Miller said...

oh nice capture of deep feeling in this...dreaming of such love and then waking alone...you layering with the flowers picked too soon...nice touch...

Susan Anderson said...

I like the form you used here.
It carries along the feeling very nicely.


Trellissimo said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Trellissimo said...

Thanks for this lovely poem, beautifully rhythmic and rhymed.

(But note - typing the two words doesn't prove I'm not a robot. It proves some cack-handed library somewhere has OCR software that doesn't work properly, and they want me to do their work for nothing! Get real!)

Aisling Literary Services said...

They're always picked too soon. Isn't that the irony of it all?!!!

Tess Kincaid said...

Truly beautiful...I had to read it out loud...

Recent Reading History

  • Solar - Ian McEwen
  • New York - The Novel: Edward Rutherfurd
  • The God Delusion - Dawkins

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