warm is the spot
where leaving you left
burrowed in woolen
whispering sighs
red painted feathers
where moss put to rest
the passing of cold
into winter’s caress
earrings carved
from the tallest of pines
swishes and sway
o’er my shoulder
lustrous clawing of one
into one
backward I came
seeking refuge in art
save me regretting
the reasons I fell –
let me tell lies
to my heart
. . .
An odd inspiration. Earrings received for my birthday….
Lovely……Truth Will Out! The heart will accept and understand…. 😉
The heart never forgot………
A gorgeous poem!
Thank you, dearest Wendell. 🙂
Lines of embrace …
Fingers resting against the echoes of ancient hymns……….
Ahh … even more beautiful … 🙂
And a Happy Birthday!
Indeed it was, dearest Stephen………..
It is true we lie to our heart. I love how you seek refuge.
It is likely the case, although I also can’t imagine a truth the heart doesn’t know first………
We all tell lies to our hearts, Bobbie. Trouble starts when we start believing them………xo
We should always believe, dear Paul. Lies are so often but a gentle play of light and shadow………truth in another place.
How subtlety the ear lobes reach through to the heart …
hearing our name across a distant void of time………..the soft retreat of heart into soul