Hi there! I hope you enjoy this poem that I wrote this evening, I was trying to communicate a certain feeling, which I hope manages to come across.
It’s a feeling that I can’t explain – maybe
It cannot be put into words, maybe,
It cannot be perceived by
Anyone other than me, but
I will try to show you.
Maybe it’s the wind running its fingers
Through the mane of a proud black horse on a barren moor,
Standing on the ridge line with purple heather stretching out below,
Under the clouds which linger with the edge of an idea
Of a tumultuous storm;
Maybe it’s a sunset seen alone, with the silhouettes
Of bare winters trees outlined in gold, a beauty
Too intense to understand but ever ringed in
Something akin to sorrow;
Maybe it’s lying on the pavement with dead leaves
Dancing in the wind, warm tarmac against your skin,
Looking up at clouds scurrying across the sky at the end of Spring,
Watching blossom petals fall like snow;
Maybe it’s a sigh, barely audible, in a crowded
Room, a sigh in tune with the music but making its own beat,
That goes unnoticed – another drink;
Maybe it’s lying on your bed listening to your favourite songs,
With no other thoughts present in your head, but
The soft slow sounds –
Maybe it’s your phone buzzing, and,
You sit up with a smile,
Out of a melancholy reverie,
To carry on a conversation much
Looked forward to, forgetting, for now,
Everything else.
A Teacup Full of Stories 