What is a poem anyway? Is it the blood from your veins as it spills on to your page? Is it the dance of your heart as your pen glides gracefully away? Is it the ache felt deep inside that we spend all our lives trying to describe?
Lay my weary headupon a soft bed of earthwhere I can feelthe heartbeat of life against mineto breathe the melodycarried upon the lips of the windand immerse myselfin the harmonious placewhere we become one Let me go hometo where the pristine waters flowproviding strength and sustenancefor my weakened soulwhere I can close my eyes,embraced by