Tags
becoming, connection, destiny, dreams, fearless, grace, gravel roads, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, restless, southern, spirit, star crossed, strength, wandering
last I heard
was miles from here
strung out
like you were before
walking down the places loved
was never wrong
for wanting more
you came along
when wandered so
backward from a long goodbye
I found forever without words
– lost my own
within your sighs
where I am
a thought away
passing somewhere while you dream
eternities
have come and gone
moments fell as verse between
sixteen songs
from memory
plays the best of might have been
losing sight of every star
of where we were
when love began
dusty boots
are faded red
heading some place I don’t know
counting steps between the cars
each far away
where love might go
changing course
for distant lights
another town won’t know your name
won’t know the way I was before
was miles from here
before you came
. . .

I especially like the feel of the last verse…
this is wonderfully telepathic? intuitive? hmmmm
you always make me smile
as I put thoughts of my own between those lines
Thanks once again Ms Bobbie…always a pleasure to wander in your thoughts
hugs!
Take Care…
)0(
just me
Intuitive? Perhaps………but more likely it is that we all carry the same stories, the same heart and soul. We wear different names, and love feels different. But at its core, it is just (only, evermore) love. Enough……….more than. ~ Thankyou, Maryrose. ~ Love, Bobbie
Dreaming moonlight on a clouded night
Wondering where I’d been since then… ~xo~
Good Night, Bobbie.
Thank you, Paul. That’s such a beautiful line……… you should plant it and see what blossoms. ~ Much love, Bobbie
spiritually sensitive and in tuned with the moment and temporary ~ brilliant dear!
Thank you, my sweet Deb………. Often, I am hopeful that words sit flush with the universe such that we know before we know. ~ Love you, Bobbie
I just really like rhyme, and when you do it this well that’s just heaven …
Thank you for your kindness, Peter. Words rarely give honor to the feelings which inspire them, but always the poet waits with pen (just in case). Thank you. ~ Ever love, Bobbie