Where should I start from?
She was a girl of black hair,
Charming dark opal eyes,
Skin seemingly of heaven's silks,
And an easy, rosy smile that could, and
Did, stir a shattered will.
She loved me.
Well, maybe.
She never, ever spoke to me.
There must be truth to hope though.
Hope is what whithered, yellow leaves in autumn
have for a barren tree,
And what raging rivers crushing rocks before
them run for.
Is there any truth to my hope?
The truth is,
She, whose painfully divine attractivness
Makes sane the whole of our dreams,
Once took my universe deeply, absolutely in her eyes
For a moment of hushed solitude,
A moment purer than the sun setting its
golden wings on the ocean,
More pure than, hidden among dunes, oases of
vengeful deserts,
Purer yet than a touch.
Honesty says I should tell you,
That I'll survive my cursed days and frigid nights,
For the thought of being loved in one moment,
Eternally, completely, unmistakably,
Blazes witin me.
Reason for writing:
What drove me to write this poem was a dire need to express how I once felt about a certain person, since I never could do that in front of them. And I've submitted it to simply see if others can understand my feelings.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Bill Morgan (Gemini).