William

6 Comments

Tags:
  • Romance
  • ,
  • Lust

    William

    You're in my dreams,
    and your tender smile melts my heart.

    I think of us
    in London,
    where the sky is gray,
    and my clothes are of lace,
    and yours of cotton.
    I grabbed your hand,
    under the light of a lamp post.

    We dreamt of a life under the stars
    spread out on the soft grass,
    under a patched blanket.
    You took my heart in your hands
    and held on
    as I began to fade into
    this dream...

    William,
    I'm going back to bed.

    By: Brandi Deacon
    2010

    Poem Comments

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    SavVySam commented on William

    03-27-2010

    That is definitely a dream to get back to...lol Sounds wonderful! Such richly painted pictures you've penned with your words! Very nice dreamy feel!

    BringMeBullets

    03/29/2010

    Thank you... I miss him.

    cmlestrade commented on William

    03-23-2010

    I have been reading your poetry. I especially like this one because it reminds me of those marvelous eras the thirties and forties. Makes one wonder what will happen next.

    BringMeBullets

    03/23/2010

    I was hoping for that kind of effect. I wanted something simple that left room for the imagination. :)

    WarriorMonk commented on William

    03-22-2010

    hahah! Just as I wake up with this poem it ends abruptly and you tell poor William you are going back to bed, leaving william and the rest of us left hanging.... love it, it made me laugh out loud.

    BringMeBullets

    03/22/2010

    Ha ha. Thank you.

    Skite commented on William

    03-19-2010

    Who said tha dreams are dreams, only when you dont paint'em..wink...:)

    BringMeBullets

    03/19/2010

    Thank you so much!

    Charlie23 commented on William

    03-17-2010

    Dream a dream! I wouldn't want to wake up either from this one! Great poem!

    BringMeBullets

    03/17/2010

    Thank you so much. :)

    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.

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