Houses on Sand

I stand outside myself watching us

Through a golden magnifying glass

Through an objective lens, my love

As you grant me words that I had starved for

For a thousand years, dessicating in the desert,

Waiting for them like manna to fall into my hands

I fed myself while you were searching your heart

Your words come late after the harvest, I am strong

I have faced the winter- my love for you flows like

A wine cask, nourishing, rich, but I do not need you

I do not need you to drink, you need not feed me

With panicked words that are wrongly right, that are

Beautiful little houses on sand.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

How you confess such beauty and agony in misting words of illusion and reality... those things that fill us or leave us empty in the end... worlds of waiting and wondering... May you find that stable place to settle and take flight from your chrysalis...

[Marie]

Only truth feeds...houses on sand have no real foundation.

[A.A.Romanczuk]

Indeed.

[The Watcher]

This is really deep and emotional poem. I like how you tied various desert things neatly with romantic qualities. Great write, and kudos

[A.A.Romanczuk]

Thank you :)

[The Watcher]

You're very welcome madam =)

[A.A.Romanczuk]

:)

[The Watcher]

=)

[Emily B]

i will never forget the most stunning invitation from Ms. St. Vincent Millay . . . "come and see my shining palace" you probably know the rest :)

your words are lovely if maybe a little bittersweet

[A.A.Romanczuk]

"built upon the sand" :) yes, thank you :)