It’s luster in a storm to be honest;
with its highs and lows
bathed in orange and mauve–
one can almost capture the stillness
of night in a poem,
taste the gentle moonlight
that whispers soft against the skin.
Poets have an ongoing affair with romanticism.
The city awakens to pulsating rhythm
of the ocean and tumult of engine,
as day breaks,
and wind is laced with fragrance of dry fruit
I walk in footsteps of weeping cherry leaves
the world with peace punctured,
it’s hard to say if the world is nearing its end
or is simply turning a page.
Today my heart is much more open;
as birds sing a familiar song,
here among endless rows of apple trees,
and further down south
where cafes and antique shops line
as one decides between tart or sweet,
it seems almost sinful
to distinguish between the two–
since when has life ever turned out to be
predictable and trouble-free?
Carelessly, my words go on to touch
and move beyond expectation;
a blend of sugar and cream for those
who are hurting,
I believe that humans are capable of more
than despair allows them to feel,
that bones are made of stardust
and intention is a grey dove awaiting its flight;
it’s all one ever needs to survive.
Now go back and start reading from the top.
Photo credits: Joseph Zbukvic Watercolor Painting, Pinterest
Posted for Poetics: Poetry of Place and Space @dVerse Poets Pub