Stormy night
Pale blue eyes like a quiet lake on a cloudy morning opaque and impenetrable as it lacks depth. These eyes are unlike yours, who’s waters run as deep as the North Sea with its crashing white waves on a stormy night. Oh! How I’ve loved and I’ve lived. And lived and I’ve loved. You as a poet and writer, a creator of symphonies in word. Unlike very many others who have powerful words but weary eyes and hollow steps. Their homes are not where their poems live and their hearts are cold and steep, their life a subversion of their real selves. Yours are in spring, the steps a rhythmic dance towards your core self unafraid as the lone warrior at daybreak on the battlefield. Your words, the sword Your character, th...