You are the air that I breathe,
You are the world at my feet,
You are the warmth that I love,
When I am asleep.
You are the music in the skies,
Singing sweet lullabies,
And the one who comforts me,
When I break down and cry.
You are my world,
Bringing both love and joy,
You're even the one,
I love to annoy!
But most of all,
You are my little White Dove,
Enveloping me in happiness,
In a world full of love.
Love isn't perfect,
It is both good and bad,
But with you by my side,
I'll never be sad.
About the Creator
Carol Townend
Fiction, Horror, Sex, Love, Mental Health, Children's fiction and more. You'll find many stories in my profile. I don't believe in sticking with one Niche! I write, but I also read a lot too.
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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 Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (3)
Beautiful
Awww those last two lines!!! Fantastic poem, Carol!!! Loved it!!!
Simply beautiful!