I write of love,
when I know only,
the mere nothings of touch,
forever numb;
silent to sound,
and deaf to tone,
I know all to well,
the organ made of stone.
Forever within it's solitude,
it seeks but the warmth,
I cannot give.
Forever hardened in my chest,
it longs for one more chance to live.
This poem made me think of the fable of the princess locked away in a tower... One day the sun will touch your cold stone and turn it into a hot brick.
Short and elegent poem of love everyone knows what love is in one time or another only need one taste of love to know what its about after that feeling of love... it does become numb after pain of such 'forever numb; silent to sound, and deaf to tone, ' thats how its going to be but hopefully not forever... hope you find your love Crimson! ! and again Beautiful, superb, Splendid write :) ~Bella
'tis a maginificient write from a noble-writer! ! ! an excellent poem! ! top marks! !
Superb poem Crim...i enjoyed reading it..truly brilliant!
Fabulous! I really, Really like this one! Simple, elegant, and with words holding such meaning in which I can relate.... Fantastic poem!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your name is Love and if you write of love it is xlent. I like to invite you to read my poems ramesh rai rkrai100@gmail.com