Three years, 1 day

A Poem by bluejohn

The words are lost in the motions

A fleeting sense of relief leaves me as I begin to dread my own future
(life, love, & the mystery)

your eyes are wasted on (these) lost souls
while mine are lost in yours
(quickly, the thoughts pass w/ nothing to hold)

I have no needs, only desire for inner peace
(quiet, rest, relief) and you

it’s the birth of beauty in your eyes and soul
your soft words, so small in the moonlight
breath so quiet on your lips

sometimes first words are hard to find