to see her face
her cheeks ruddy
almost glowing
almost showing
how beautiful she truly is
amid a hazy halo
of morning mist
and her
just standing there
a silhouette on a frozen dawn
ice laden golden rays
the gentle puff
a subtle cloud of
soft breath
upon the frozen dawn
her inner beauty
magnified and fully visible
aided by the cold
this weather
puts a zing in her step
and plays across
her supple skin
the sparkle in her eyes
a coiffure by mother nature
her wind swept hair
an elegant mess
amid this
frosty bluster
oh sultriest
of vixens
beauty has bestowed
her crown on you
oh most royal
my queen
my heart
my love
About the Creator
Brenton F
It's just a token of my extreme - Frank Zappa
- - -
I have an eBook, a collection of my favourite pieces
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis2 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
Awww, this was so sweet and lovely! Loved this wonderful poem!