LOVE, a flower blooming bright,
Casting shadows, gleaming light,
Beneath dew moss, its essence pure,
In meadows green, its charm secure.
Prayers, like moths in moonlit skies,
Flutter softly, as love complies,
Emotions deep, yet often lost,
In love’s embrace, we pay the cost.
As children sweet, we roam the Earth,
Lost in dreams, discovering worth,
Ghosts of the past, they don’t mind,
For love’s the force that we’re destined to find.
Like melting candles’ gentle glow,
In Victorian houses, time’s flow,
And like Emily Dickinson’s quill,
Love’s prose resounds, its power instill.
Gypsies, too, with colors bright,
Paint love’s canvas in golden light,
Against the canvas of the dawn,
The tapestry of love is drawn.
The things we’ve lost, our hearts do hold,
Sacred treasures, stories untold,
Humanity’s essence, pure and rare,
With love’s embrace, we learn to care.
Discreetly kissing, love’s divine,
Holding dear, our sacred shrine,
Wishing that God’s listening ear,
Blesses love, both far and near.
In Whitman’s spirit, love’s embrace,
Shall bind us all, and leave no trace,
For like the grass and stars above,
In love, we find our deepest love.
E.P. Robles | Poetry 