L C Vieira
What happened to the art of writing
long letters to a friend,
a lover waiting anxiously,
a beginning and an end?
Emails miss the middle bits
and all the extras, too,
but letters can be rich with words
of details through and through.
I know of some whose only kiss,
flowed from heart to pen,
on scented sheets of pale paper,
read again and again.
These letters safely tucked away
in secret backs of drawers,
are memories rich for years to come,
a journal of one’s stories.
So, if I write too much today,
forgive me if you ...
He reaches above the green of summer
to new life in the wind
and blows with each breath from his lips
She spreads her arms across a valley
where youthful dreams rise to meet her
in each treasured breeze
There on the heights in sun and rain