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Tags: Sad

old poem... its already there on writers cafe.

Submitted:Jul 5, 2010    Reads: 107    Comments: 21    Likes: 12   



When sunbeams gild the blushing rose petals

And violets grow wild on a sleeping maiden's grave

When mists roll out anointing the sprouts

And the brook flows serenely like a prophecy unfolding...


I feel him passing by in the wind's fragrant breath

His knuckles touch mine, his sweet roguish smile

Freezes my pulse for a long disturbing moment

And then... he takes my all away while handing me a pen.



He is no more than a longing, an artist's forlorn dream

Restlessness of a wanderer, a ballad's scattered theme.


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