Love, life, peace, warm comfort to cold wounds.
Quiet. Passionate. Whispers of emotional heights.
Ideals. Dreams. Romantic plateaus ripe for exploration.
A soft, still murmur rises to fulfilling crescendo,
Even on the simple syllable of a word.
Can such relevant fury be tamed and controlled
Within the confines of mere words, thoughts, admirations and emotions?
To know love that serenades the soul,
Composes a symphony of contentment,
Delivers remedy to loneliness,
Completes he who woefully yearns for connection.
To know this love is to know tranquility, serenity,
Vitality, energy, positivity, completeness.
Yes, she navigates my heart like a gossamer breeze –
Love, life, peace, warmth to comfort cold wounds.
When writing poetry, it becomes a serious task to punctuate for meaning, to choose the perfect word, to eliminate the extraneous and to emphasize the minute changes that may otherwise be interpreted as mistake. You go over each word, each phrase, each nuance, and attempt to craft them into the wisp of a thought from which they came.
One could work and tweak and adjust forever, it seems. THIS one, must move on to other writing…