A HUNDRED POEMS – LXXXVI

MY LETTER TO YOU

Dear, speak not of the storm that weeps in feelings deep,
The butterfly endures the deluge, the fire’s keep.
What flower doth bloom in dreams, serene,

life burns a fire in souls
never forgiving good deeds

In visions, still, where worlds convene
A burning bush, its flames, they soothe,
Embracing souls, in passion’s truth

seeking for a heart of gold
and we’re getting old

I dined upon your essence, pure,
Touched the soul, a love so sure
In ships of dreams, I sailed the night,

how i’ve sailed the ocean
been to hollywood
and now getting old

Fell into love’s soft, endless light
You, my golden molten grace,
In your love, I find my place

lived in Jean Lafitte’s house in the 70s
and walked the wood he lived
a house now burned down

Time’s eternal clock winds not astray,
I’m yours, in love’s unending sway.
Once upon time’s delicate thread I soared,

Through space, my wishes, like stardust, poured.
Wayward, I carried dreams in flight,
Masked wisdom, veiled in the night.

In the cacophony of life’s design,
I became words, where voices entwine.
Those who loathed what I conveyed,

I devoured, their echoes frayed.
In the tapestry of spoken song,
I found my voice, where I belong.

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