The voice of an angel
lullaby me to sleep
talk me into loving the time you keep
whisper sweet nothings in my ear
tell me about all the daytime things you fear
face of an angel
clear pools of blue
a mirage of empty dreams dances in you
i pick them up and waltz with a watering can
so they grow and they bloom
my faith yearns so true
honest as an angel
tongues speaking with unbitter salve
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Comments: 9
I like how you phrased it.
Now I'll go to bed
thinking of your poem and
of angels.
felt completely hopeless and sad. Somehow, a poppy
flower almost seemed to speak to me and as I "listened"
and watched every little nuance of her growth and blooming
closely, it was as if I had rediscovered the world through
a spiritual prodding to allow the light to guide me and root
me in some private source of nurturing so that I could
gather strength and love my own colors again.
I looked at the thorny sheath that wrapped the flower,
and it reminded me of my fears. When I touched those thorns,
they were soft and pliable and actually beautiful when you looked
at them closely. The petals opened slowly one layer at a time, and
I learned to do the same. The warmth of the sun opened her and
me to new days of surprising growth andinspirational beauty. Thank
you for reminding me of this time through your gentle poem.