Minutes feel like hours,
the hours seem like days.
Time is at a standstill,
awaiting my lover’s gaze.
~
Her scent I can recall,
her face I clearly see.
My heart beats a little faster,
when thinking of her with me.
~
My arms are meant to hold her,
our lips were meant to touch.
Our words are always shared,
when saying “I love you so much”
~*~
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~
To write is to be
always distracted but not
distracted by it
~*~
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~
One can sit or stand,
shut, push, pull, pick or tune up.
But never give up.
~*~
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The day was long, the night short.
Arms embrace for support.
Work was taxing and taxes due.
Trinkets bought but just a few.
~
Pillows help soften the blow.
Blankets warm from head to toe.
Legs intertwined and bodies askew,
it’s fun to try something new.
~
Perspectives change in new light,
loving eyes improve our sight.
Peaceful slumber finds its way,
the perfect end to an imperfect day.
~*~
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*
With gyroscopic forces at play
Gears, levers and pulleys all have a say
I wouldn’t want it any other way
When riding my bike down to the bay
~*~
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The night was black and eerily still,
sensations naught but for the chill.
The fog then quickly settles in.
It is death but for the din.
~
With nowhere left to run or go.
A silence welcomes from far below.
Or follow the sounds of mournful screams,
awakened to a life of no one’s dreams.
~
Nightmares seep with a shuttered mind.
Yet sweetly we rest when freedom we find.
Tomorrows beat within our hearts.
Open eyes see bright, new starts.
~
But it is sleep where we all do dwell,
our futures told of heaven and hell.
We’ll meet the many never to know.
Then in a blink it’s the end of our show.
~
When we wake a dimension’s gone.
Feeling flat upward we’re drawn.
We rise to heights imagined by one.
The world awaits, our day begun
~
Tread the paths, both waning and worn.
Use your sharpness when you’re torn.
And sleep will guide us to our core.
But time awake always one third more.
~*~
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We work by day and dream at night.
In between we live and fight.
We fight for peace and for love.
We fight to live, we push and shove.
Sometimes we give, sometime we break.
We sometime take more than we make.
We fight for much and for less.
We fight for time to fight off stress.
We’ve fought for us and for them.
We fought for merit and to condemn.
We fight the ills that lurk within.
We fight our demons so we may win.
Yet battles won are never done.
And battles lost are never one.
But still we fight until at last we die.
We’ll fight for breath to at last ask why.
~*~
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Imagine that, I’ve nothing to write.
I got up early and stayed up all night.
So I’ll make something up, if that’s OK.
I’ll probably live it some other day.
~
It could be happy or it could be sad.
It could be of some old adventure had.
I’m sure there’ll be others and why not.
Though most quite small, I’ve had a lot.
~
Perhaps a poet imagined that lives on a hill.
They’ll watch the sunrise and do what they will.
That might be good for a poem or two,
or maybe a love sonnet, maybe a few.
~
With these pages hands turned with time,
each face a story, each await their rhyme.
Each chapter has its title, the next to depend.
Tho thy tome grows heavy, I wish it no end.
~
I’ll imagine a tomorrow when something’s to write.
I’ll get up early and stay up all night.
~*~
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rhymesalot 