The Yellow Balloon
My mind is a seascape of caressing, white, foamy waves,
With a sandy beach with lifeguards prepared to save.
You're tall, muscular with blue, mirror eyes,
Reflecting our love as breathtaking,
As this perfect connection of sea and sky,
Seabreezes can't cool our robust desires,
Like the dancing of flames in an open fire.
Happiness is walking hand in hand around Courtown Harbour,
The beating, relentless sun on our hot, moist skin, well protected,
Our love so deep, it is easily detected,
With emotions wrapped and neatly tied.
Suddenly a yellow balloon escapes from a small childs fingers,
Like a large bubble flying so gracefully, as it doesn't linger.
In the bluest skies above the light drenched sea,
Like it all has been fully painted with an artistic, steady hand,
Nearby a radio plays loudly, the sound of a heavy rock band,
Creeping everywhere is particles of fine, gritty sand.
This view of a tantalizing seascape,
Our hearts runs free as we at last pull back the drapes,
Like the yellow balloon bobbing with smiles,
At the many miles.
With our bodies and souls immersed,
In this factual verse.
Yellow balloon where will you fly to?
Will you settle with comfort and memories of past adventures,
With a life to enjoy, not just too endure,
As night falls,
The yellow balloon, still dancing with the gleam of the charismatic moon,
The small child no longer cries or calls!
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Comments about this poem (The Yellow Balloon by Hazel Durham )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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