PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I always reckon the span of the past

For every tick of the clock is my heart

beating in faint memories unsurpassed

tranquility at the thought of Us starts



gazing intently, this defined meadows

with inviting scents of stunning roses

suffuse a smell to my icy pillow

A yearning inhaled through rapt wishes



I look at the span and tonight seems warm

The wind is hissing softly to the East

As water flows serenely by the tarn  

My lips draw a smile with pretended ease



I’ll stay awake till my eyes feel the sun

The meadows is waiting for my forty winks