rhyme

(Poem) Painting of the Souls

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Deep within I know my questions will be my bane.

Inside I know that it is not of feign.

I have my answers, of that I am sure.

The path I take is the cure.

 

My questions answered with sound from her lips,

and my heart clinging to the words before it slips.

Painting of the souls is what occurs in time,

when the hearts of ones who should be together, her’s and mine.

 

When ink and paint drip together,

my heart feels connected in a tether.

Questions still linger, but I hold hope.

They will weigh me down, with only her hand holding up this slope.

(Poem) The Black Rose

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Admiring from afar, I learned of the black rose.

She was quite beautiful, but the door was closed.

 

With eyes of blue and green,

They were the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen.

 

With lips of green apple,

Kissing them was an idea I had to grapple.

 

The day she could be my rose,

The day I could be the Doctor, I suppose.

 

I offer the feelings of two hearts,

to the black rose of the arts.

(Poem) Pits of Ice

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Venturing into the pits of ice,
shivering in the lonely black.
It happened at a throw of dice,
losing the warmth somewhere back.

Whispers in her voice flow with the wind,
it’s all around to escape such a heavenly noise.
My chilled voice follows all of those sinned,
with the absence of all of our joys.

What comes next, after the forges and now the pits.
A fortress of despair? Castle of sorrow?
I push on, continuing takings the icy hits,
wishing to make it, hoping time will let me borrow.