What shall I do to bring the stars, back in the eyes of the one; where they belong. Away from moons and dark, far, far from the night kingdom. My hands full of potatoes, the pockets of these rags are thorn, my head filled, unstrung, erupts; to bring the daily corn. An engraved image on my chest; of beauty wisdom and intellect. So where the hands do touch discrete; my soul does lift to absolute. Breaking, hate and disarray, on this old world, it is his trade. And where the lips of us two meet, your head thus turns to on thy cheek. So were the worlds of ours collide; in waters deep in blue of life. Spring is but your tide to me, but medial water shall I be.
Reason for writing:
Have you ever loved somebody who, you only found out later, was bored with your presence and did not share the same feeling for you?
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Johan van Wyk de Vries (14/10/76 Libra).