Rating: 5.0
Sun is bright. Birds are singing.
The air is thick and heavy.
Knock, knock- no one’s home.
Key turns and we’re alone.
Pull the blinds, kill the lights.
You tell me it’ll be all right.
Outer shells melt away-
Got a little braver through the day.
Hands are moving- mind of their own.
Somehow I’m willing to condone.
Crossing lines we’ve never crossed,
Guards we put up now are lost.
Trust being fruit of our labor,
We’ve still something left to savor.
And in this moment as tension builds,
At last, in this first, time will stand still.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
'Hands are moving- mind of their own.' so far this one is my favorite poem. Oh man o man, I love it I love it! ! ! !
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Francesca Johnson 28 May 2006
A wonderful first experience, sensitively described. Nice one, Jessy Love, Fran xx
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