Tenderly, I touched
a garden unattended
that heart a field
bleed the seasons
across those crops
I missed but loved
my dear nature-love
what more of you
that the sun took
my youth and skin
I worked your soil
and sweat soul toil
for you I work
those vast fields
You produce bounty
such graceful crops
and I kiss your soil
and eat your fields
My muscle — your love
:: 04-08-2014 ::
Someday my love
you’ll realize
that rainbows cry
and in the wet cold
you’ll see gold
that it’s a heart’s love
and one day my sweet dear
you’ll realize that
I was the one
and birds and church bells
sing a ringing song
across missed lives
but tomorrow brings
a new story and life
but in this end dear
I lost you my dear one
but church bells ring
and bluebirds sing
and tomorrows may cry
but my heart sings
that sun of love
:: 04-08-2014 ::
So lady my gem
if i should say
what heavenly hymn
would your angel
unfurl her wings
a stimulation
God’s sensation
not too worry
He built it in
and I would take
that perfect bliss
lips need lips
and i have some
Fingers searching
there I find you
between those tears
and your eyes
I am not just love
but Cupid’s son
and I know love
it’s my burning fire
and my testimony
Love is the greatest
that greatest Truth
:: 04-08-2014 ::
Stay, do not leave; please, discover me
I am hidden, shadow skin,
Inviolable soul am I
Steadfast!
Those, who stab and bite my thoughts
it is fear, a half-awakened spirit;
kindness, compassion — accused weakness
young souls be children
a sign of misunderstanding
If not for the stars my knees would bleed
their fire support my weight
Love who born me — my mother, kiss me!
a voice I need and her hugs too — please
tonight I incite the prayer
Come! Come!
Your child is hungry – less
the spirits feed upon that flesh
the world should glimpse a moment
That dreams are true and life a wooden stage
Her wings iridescent blue!
:: 04-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. ROBLES
a clean sheet that paper
at birth not a scribble
a play yet to unfold
what character, will be?
and narrative to drive
that actor’s soul-stage
a setup from the start
and conflict in the wings
a resolution for life
we, the fictional
take our lines
from the Divine
and genre —
make mine romance
and not this horror
:: 04-08-2014 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 