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a foreign poet impresses words
without intentions, assumes
love being for the lucky,
steals a kiss in the pouring rain.
how fortunate his remarks
subtle, intriguing evolution,
three years from today
her name simply devastates.
set apart, a lonely world away
a box is filled with words
violent contents, cradled close
developed in secret, lies and love.
what poetry his pen commands
surfaces for purpose, extent
of dedication, devotion, a mere
reason to live, and nothing more.
I'm so glad to see that you are back on ES. It has been far too long, my friend.
It seems that time has served you well. Your writing is as beautiful as always, but it seems that(as with wine) your writing has gotten better with time. This is a great piece. I want to re-read it a couple of times and then I will give you more feedback. But, I do want to say that it is a beautiful piece.
I hope to hear from you soon. I have missed our conversations. There is much to catch up on. A lot has changed, dear friend.
|| Posted on 2009-09-13 00:00:00 | by longwinterdays | [ Reply to This ] |