Talk To Me

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

Flash that grin once again at me

It will last me for an eternity.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

A whisper in that husky voice

Will silence all my heart’s noise.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

I’m ready to wait for an infinity

To see that familiar wink at me.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

I miss your ringing laughter,

But I’ll love you forever after.

Oh, talk to me, please!

For Poetry 101 Rehab.

Delights of Dawn and Dusk

In a magical place, faraway,

Away from the hustle-bustle of today,

The stunning sapphire sea meets the sparkling sand,

A scene both magnificent and grand.

The colours change from blue to red

As all the darkness of the night is shed.

The sky goes to every shade it can find

As if it can’t quite make up its mind.

Then suddenly, a warm amber glow

Spreads in the sky, warming every soul.

The golden sun rises up and shines,

Rousing the sleeping creepers and vines.

A medley of colours brighten up the day

Showing the path, lighting the way.

From the awesome orange to the beautiful blue

To the welcoming white of the crystalline dew.

As dusk creeps in, the colours fade

To an enchanting mauvish shade.

The majestic sun makes its departure

As the world watches in silent rapture.

For Poetry 101 Rehab.

Reflections

Shaky, unclear, hazy

Memories of what I’ve been.

A little stupid, a little crazy,

The things that I’ve heard and seen.

A small ripple will set them off

Like a bottled up volcano.

But the pain can’t be even reduced by half,

Of the things that I’ve been before.

So as I look at my reflection,

Smiling sadly with her sorrowful eyes,

That girl inside me decides tor run,

Looking for some respite.

Unsure, but confident

That truthfully telling lies,

Will somehow make me not repent

Fleeing from this world of cowardice.

For Poetry 101 Rehab: Reflections

Fresh Page

Every page I turn

Is ripped, torn, or burnt.

Every page I turn

Has nothing new to learn.

The sharp edges

Cut my fingers.

Just a drop of blood

On the destroyed page.

I’m sick of this,

My book of memories.

I’m sick of this,

Want to turn over a new leaf.

And all I have to do

Is gather some courage

To turn over a

Fresh page.

For Poetry 101 Rehab: Decisions