Eye of the storm
upon landscape serene,
your charm never fades
in intensity.
That white silk
flowing between velvet green,
for fools
in enduring propensity.
Like leaves on the water
that ripples tease,
tracks of endless tears
that from pain evolve,
taking feelings
and doing as you please,
only the passing of time
can dissolve.
From one place
to another wriggling,
with changing seasons
that your mood belies.
Fast and slow,
then on pebbles giggling –
your tide of love falls,
before it will rise.
If words
had the ability to cry –
the words on this paper
would run like dye.
(A poem from the book 'Mr Blue Sky' by O. Phillips © 2009)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem