PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

November is her cruelest month.
That time when pale purple sheds out of the autumn sky.
“Don’t cry baby, don’t cry."
When the crying stops, I’ll tell you that, "It is alright baby, it will be okay”.

Rain glistens on turning aspen leaves.
Like that woman’s tears.
Rainwater raises winding into rivers.
Haze lingers, like the sigh of the satin.

Mist hides the sun.
As the woman cries, she washes yesterday away.
Like the sun, I can love her.
Rain glitters, like reflections of sunlight on wet streets.

Wetness makes jewels out of the asphalt.
I won’t let the black come back.
Your dreams no longer meant for slumber
Don’t we all need some good love?

Hear the song humming in my head.
I won’t let your blues begin.
Somewhere between the amethyst and violet, I’ll move you into the sun
You know I can help you light up that fire.

I am here waiting in the flames of your desire.
That is where the love really begins.
Wind whispers.
Is she whispering me?

Can she hear the whispers through her domain of dreams?
Hear not the nightingale, I can sing to you.
Can she hear the songs?
I can sing my song to her.

I could drown out the roar of waves on the sea.
Dawn shines should she hear me.
Dawn shines, casting radiance in the pines.
Oh woman weeping, dry your eyes.

I can love you like sunshine on autumn leaves.
I change the green to amber red gold.
I would change everything.
Can she see me like the sun in the center of her skies?

I pledge my warmth to your heart until there are tears of joy in your eyes.