I want to sit by the sea, smell the salt air
through the whispering winds. Listen to the waves
collide against the current. Another tide as washed up
the shells of colors, that reflect with the sun's ray of
beauty. The sand of velvet that sits beneath my feet,
like soft rose pedals. Shed my tears, like rain spreads
through the open fields of nature that covers our survival.
Freedom of great wide open waters never ending. When a flower
blooms, like a baby is born that's brought into life,
unknowing what to expect. Let us drain the poverty of those
that weep in the alley's of desperation. The wisdom of the
wise, revive the weak. Bitterness in the eye's of a cold
shallow heart, that bleeds with thorns of pain on an
open wound. Seek those that are troubled, but be aware
of those recovering. Appearance is like an image in the mirror
of defiance, a reaction of negativity of an illusion, that we
think appears. A dream that wishes to be real, but only an image
of life unlived. As a team we conquer, distance becomes a
separation from a world lived apart. The memories don't seem to
fade, they just grow older as we hold on to them.
This poem has been claimed by Maria Catania
through the whispering winds. Listen to the waves
collide against the current. Another tide as washed up
the shells of colors, that reflect with the sun's ray of
beauty. The sand of velvet that sits beneath my feet,
like soft rose pedals. Shed my tears, like rain spreads
through the open fields of nature that covers our survival.
Freedom of great wide open waters never ending. When a flower
blooms, like a baby is born that's brought into life,
unknowing what to expect. Let us drain the poverty of those
that weep in the alley's of desperation. The wisdom of the
wise, revive the weak. Bitterness in the eye's of a cold
shallow heart, that bleeds with thorns of pain on an
open wound. Seek those that are troubled, but be aware
of those recovering. Appearance is like an image in the mirror
of defiance, a reaction of negativity of an illusion, that we
think appears. A dream that wishes to be real, but only an image
of life unlived. As a team we conquer, distance becomes a
separation from a world lived apart. The memories don't seem to
fade, they just grow older as we hold on to them.
This poem has been claimed by Maria Catania
No comments:
Post a Comment