PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I hear that songs of love's glow

turn heartbeats into scores.

But I'm feeling like a writer

whose words are less than more.

My mind keeps spinning harder

when her soft lips speak my way.

and I call out for some inner strength

to get me past her face.                                                                                

                                                                                              

Her beauty is all seasons

and her eyes are straight to me.

But I wonder how to play my cards

and I never speak my piece.

With that curse breasting virtue

I go bragging through a ghost

and although my words are open

they're not spoken from my soul.



She says, "I'm pleased of you to greet."

though in truth words can decieve.

Yet I see her through a future past

that forced my tongue to seize

while thinking she's light poetry

the sun venus of my eyes

but I choose my words so badly

that her mystery straightway hides.



If truth makes the best of love

then silence is a scream

waiting there behind a front

of words in bound discreet

Those words are now like old support

still slipping through my head

So I lie behind a ghost of words  

unspoken in my bed.