In the quiet hush of twilight's embrace
In the quiet hush of twilight's embrace
In the quiet hush of twilight's embrace,
Where the stars unveil their celestial grace,
A love blooms tender, like petals unfurl,
In the garden of the heart, a precious pearl.
Your eyes, twin beacons, ignite the night,
Guiding my soul through passion's flight.
In the tapestry of time, our threads entwine,
A love story written in verses divine.
Your laughter, a melody, dances on the breeze,
A symphony of joy, putting my heart at ease.
With every whispered word and gentle touch,
Our love deepens, it means so much.
In the canvas of dreams, you're my masterpiece,
A portrait of love that will never cease.
Hand in hand, we'll stride through fate's domain,
Facing storms together, sharing joy and pain.
Your smile, a sunrise, breaking the dawn,
In its warmth, all my worries are withdrawn.
Through life's winding journey, side by side,
Together we'll conquer, with love as our guide.
So let our hearts beat in harmonious rhyme,
A love poem written throughout all time.
In the universe vast, our love will gleam,
Forever and always, you are my dream.
Please Like and Subscribe
About the Creator
Shirsendu Chakma
I want to see you with my two eyes 💔😢😭
Keep reading
More stories from Shirsendu Chakma and writers in Poets and other communities.
At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly3 days ago in Horror
Comments (1)
Interesting one