Plucking the Petals...
ritual of Victorian girls..myths, legends or folklore of magnetic radiance with dreams of romance, truth to discover..one by one, love me, love me not.
I, who would write the poems, stilled in silence, likened to blue sadness of the daisies, petals all still there...thoughts compromised...lines waiting to be written...you somewhere,
me here.
Memories sense you everywhere, phones nearby...Oh! voice to hear...what are you doing, where are you now?, An ocean away, still?
We started out with dancing fun...but into my heart you came...
now my body of womanly desires aches to hold you in my slumber.
Can't seem to put down my quilled pen, the words like mulled wine in my mind..can't seem to release the scent to paper, a poet's nightmare, but ever to embellish you in my dreams, my forbidden love, promised to another.
Blue, like the daisies, was my Lady...Pensive in thoughts...When we had to let go. Now...but a soul mate to forever be...of my very secret memoirs.
KEEP GOING VIVIAN YOUR WORK IS WONDERFUL...ANNA
These sentiments "speak" right into my soul and I can relate completely, Vivian. Thank you for sharing. Love and best wishes,
Regis