Complications arise in every supplication
I lack the insight to understand your ways
Like church bells standing steadfast and tall
Your eyes rise up to meet the skies
I yearn to share words and hold the hand
That guides the pen across the page
Ink flowing from the thinking-feeling minds
Of a world too often silenced
I see Emily in a skirt, dancing through the night
Oh, my Dickinson fantasy!
Let me help you pull the weeds from your garden
As I offer the words of a swollen sky
Watch them leap up onto your silver feet
In a frantic melody that pulses with life
They say that all good things must end
But I pray every single day
That your beating heart will keep burning bright
Forever illuminating your smile
Even when anguish tortures the soul
:: 03.29.2023 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 