Koto's Tune

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Tags:
  • Dreaming
  • ,
  • Life

    Koto's Tune

    Red sun

    Retreating behind the mountain top’s

    Surrendering purple and orange to the Heavens

    She smiles at the view

    Toes grazing amongst the short grass

    A smile to match her view

    On top of life

    She runs with wild hounds

    To a place towering with pillars

    And a hammock a-waiting her comfort

    Amidst its contents is her favorite book

    She cuddles between the pages of its words

    Friendly company

    From a friendly distance

    She hears the flow of love

    Water in the creek below

    Warmth in her Heart

    To match the warmth on her skin

    When he arrives with a tender kiss

    To greet her with his Heart

    Cherry Blossoms shedding their peddles

    Sacrificing their splendor for the moment

    Like smalls flakes of snow

    The Koto plays a tune just for them

    The time crossed Lovers  

    She found her answer

    Their Hearts two strong to contain

    They give birth to the future

    She feels a Love

    She’s never known before

    Her life has a purpose

     She never saw driving her

    So far forward

    She is strong and loving

    She will never know loneliness

    She has the husband dreams and stories are made of

    She will never question her purpose in life

    Her children are her life, pride and joy

    Times were tough and rough

    A trial at best

    But she never had to face them alone

    He was always there along the way

    To hold her hand

    Wipe her tears

    Give his support and Love

    Before she could ever feel over whelmed

    She was blessed

    With True Love

     And the Sun set

    Over a happy life

    She got to smile over and down upon

    -Fin-

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    Wakeitha commented on Koto's Tune

    06-12-2012

    Its no words can expland how beautiful this poems is, I never found a poem touch me like this, this my favorite poem I every read. This poem should win Best poem of the Month. Kudos my friend Kudos....God bless

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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