Whispers of the Soul
This poem invites you on a journey through vivid landscapes and heartfelt emotions. With its delicate words and sincere verses, it paints a picture of dreams and hopes intertwined. In simple yet powerful language, it captures the beauty of nature, the warmth of love, and the timeless moments we cherish.
In fields of words, let me weave for you,
A tapestry of verses, fresh and new.
With ink as my brush, I'll paint a scene,
Of dreams and hopes, where thoughts convene.
In whispered lines, I'll trace the dawn,
Where golden sunbeams dance upon,
The velvet sky, ablaze with light,
A masterpiece of colors bright.
Through blooming meadows, we shall roam,
Where wildflowers sway and call us home.
Their fragrant whispers fill the air,
As we tread softly, without a care.
Oh, let us wander by the shore,
Where waves embrace the sands once more.
Their rhythmic song, a soothing balm,
As we find solace, hand in palm.
Beneath the stars, we'll share our tales,
As moonlight weaves its silver veils.
The universe, a canvas vast,
Reflects the love that's meant to last.
In moments captured, frozen in rhyme,
Eternal echoes of fleeting time.
Through joys and sorrows, we shall find,
A bond unbroken, heart and mind.
So, let this poem be a gift to you,
A symphony of words, both old and new.
May it ignite your spirit, set it free,
And fill your world with poetry.
About the Creator
Lyrical Dreamer
Wandering Poet
Keep reading
More stories from Lyrical Dreamer and writers in Poets and other communities.
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskara day ago in Feast
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.