Rebecca Stansfield Poems

Clouds made up of sounds of violins, the white clouds that seldom move, if you stare for days.
The birds that never seem to look angry, even as the crows, eat their own friendships.
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What is love?
I'm waiting.

Angels move in closer,
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Battered face is bruised,
there that beauty hidden,
the woman sat in front of me,
ear phones in, blacked eyed, singing.
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Foresee the day ahead of me,
the is rising again,
and all that was a burden to me,
is flying, again.
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Tornadoes moving in like fire,
the baby of the night,
providing the mess it's causing here,
is waiting for a fight.
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The water in my eyes
The water in my heart
The air The air The air The air
The air that's in my soul
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For some reason- I wanted it-
your home.
It's almost dinner time at one-
and I'm unnoticeable.
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Kissing beards
Holding hands
Dreaming whilst we're working
Of feet in Spanish sands
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Who's to worry,
is it a fault of mine?
That you are snatching everything,
snatching my life and my time.
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