In your Eyes

In you Eyes (scribble #2)

1.

As yet another day recedes,

enveloping all under the shawl of night,

so allow me to drown,

in your eyes.

Moments are fleeting,

the fickle hands of time unseeing,

so allow me to seek solace,

in your eyes.

The paths we have trodden are littered with each shard,

of regrets and of the pain that our hearts wish only to discard,

so allow me to seek refuge,

in your eyes.

I’ve walked through the twisting alleyways of this life,

seeking simple joy, away from the desolation and the strife,

so allow me to find peace,

in your eyes.

2.

In your eyes,

I find,

the gentleness that I had left behind,

away from the emptiness of superficial smiles,

far far away from the solitude of the daily grind.

In your eyes,

I feel,

at home at long last,

your love caresses away the restlessness of my past,

stepping out of the shadows to embrace pure contentment,

even though I may be a mere bit player,

in life’s theatrical cast.

In your eyes,

I touch,

the flame of promise that shines through your loving light,

and that is why,

I no longer dread,

the vacuum of this approaching night …

Life, love, & sweetly aching blues …

life, love, & sweetly aching blues …

caught red-handed,

stealing moments,

a mere nanosecond,

of hastily borrowed time …

I stand accused,

of a past,

pockmarked by shrapnel skidding off the many alleyways of life …

I plead guilty,

naked and stripped bare,

engaged in a duel with destiny and time,

wasting,

&

wasting away,

scribbling verses in the sand,

devoid of an iota of life’s maddening,

&

Irresistibly seductive rhyme …

Tendrils of Hope

…

Refusing to succumb,

to the alluring haze of self-pity,

I refuse to wallow,
in an ocean of regret,

I choose to banish thoughts of despair,

dispelling pain, while tempting joy to emerge from its shielded lair.

I shall sow the seeds of promise,

nourishing well,

the tendrils of hope,

breathing new life into my nights, my days.

I must stand, I will rise, I have to believe,

in a better tomorrow,

not perfect, nor rosy,

yet filled with tidbits of bliss,

as well as with shards of sorrow.

…