Pieces of Peace

1 Comments

Tags:
  • Sadness
  • ,
  • Love
  • ,
  • Loss

    Pieces of Peace

    Pieces of Peace

     

     

    You sit

    out in the dark night

    where you find peace

    while the traffic goes by

    Loud stereo’s disturb you not

    Yet the moonlight is bright

    and it helps bring

    the calmness you sought

     

    You sit in the morning air

    with peaceful thoughts at hand

    while sipping your coffee

    birds are singing

    squirrels at the feet

    of this peaceful man

     

    I sit in the morning

    on the blue velvety sofa

    I have sat upon so many times before

    and gazed out

    the same sliding glass windows

    This time,

    I saw much more

     

    For I need not so much peace

    as you seek my friend

    As the quiet steers me down

    past memories lane

    the present problems at hand

     

    Other thoughts I hold within

    My mind wanders to the

    loving kisses

    and the touch of your hand

     

    As you come in the door

    as you have done

    so many times before

    With your warm brown

    checkered flannel draped over your chest

     

     

    I long for your desire

    from days before

    When love was at its best

    And it was at that those times

    that I would think the most

     

    This is the peace I sought

    My love and yours

    sorrowfully now it seems

    is has become nothing but a ghost.

     

     

     

    carolann

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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    Lynne commented on Pieces of Peace

    09-20-2009

    This is a very memorable poem. It touches places in my heart when I have felt the very same way. The feelings are always still there inside of us, but somehow it never feels the same. I will add this to my favorites.

    carolw

    09/20/2009

    Thank you so much for your comment. That poem still leaves my soul aching - "feelings inside of us" that never truly go away but, get dimmer...we hope.

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    carolw’s Poems (21)

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