Untitled (memoirs of a burgeoning poet)

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You were promise, you were prophecy
oh eyes so just they pierced my winter.
You led your way into my aching heart
oh words, as warm as endless summer. 

Through days of sorrow, days of mirth
You were sun and storm curved in one.


Photo credits: Jolygram

Posted for ‘Quadrille 34’ @ dVerse Pub

and on Tuesday Platform @ Real Toads

52 thoughts on “Untitled (memoirs of a burgeoning poet)

  1. Victoria Young says:

    I love the image of eyes piercing winter. That makes me feel all warm and summery. Also, I like how you ended with sun and storm rolled into one – a nice metaphor for the complexity of relationships.

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