Theres an old tree sitting on a hill, at first glance it seems worthless and ugly, the branches are twisted and rotten, it does not bear fruit, it has no blooms or leaves. When you see it you wonder: why is it there? What good could come from it? Then the clouds cleared away from the sun, and its golden rays shone through the mangled limbs, suddenly on the ground from the beams of the morning sun was a beautiful cross made out of light.
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Posted: Feb 2013
About this poem:
when i was seven i saw this happen, at an Easter pageant held at a boys home in Jacksonville Florida. believe it or not..:)
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Like sand; through a hand
It scatters on the wind.
Like leaves; Floating down
the fall will end.
The swirling, spinning,
ride can fill you up
inside.
Can't make it last,
love it now
before it's past.
Try to take control,
and it cuts like a
knife. Description of
the ever fragile
Life.
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Posted: Feb 2013
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As stars fill the night sky, they can't compare
to the tears that have fallen from my eyes.
I see his face and my heart is undone,
a soft breeze whispers he was the one.
The night bird calls,
speaking straight to my heart,
"you should have known this from the start".
Fireflies float on a warm fall night,
I remember when he held me how it felt so right.
The moon shines down on this memory past,
I know now how long my love for him will last.
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Posted: Feb 2013
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I can feel you my love whoever you may be; I know that you are out there also searching for me. Have we passed on the street? Having missed the chance for our eyes to meet? Or far-away you could be, perhaps across the deepest sea. I know only forever will I wait, if that should be my fate. For to no one else could my heart be true, I will save my love only for you.
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Posted: Feb 2013
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Who hears the sweetest sound,
a secret tune when no ones around.
The crickets chirping lullaby,
or the wind through the
willows and it's comforting sigh.
The deep blue shades bring the melodies of night,
that dance in the dusk, and shy from the light.
A whisper from the night birds wings,
the rivers laughter, that the stones tickle brings.
The hush as a leaf slides down a moonbeam so pale.
The keeper of these silent songs is the
Shadow of a nightingale.
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Posted: Feb 2013
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countrygirlpoet Poetry (5)