Birds
If I am to read,Then I cannot write.
This is my burden,
Day and night.
If I am to write,
Then I cannot read.
Pray tell what Is,
Wrong with me.
For my craft,
I truly believe.
There's more than ,
Death an live for me.
I close my eyes,
To let mine ears to see.
The structured sound,
Always wash's over me.
Waves come in unhurriedly,
To tease the pebbles.
On the sleeping shore,
It's time to feel even more.
With eyes still closed,
My mouth and nose.
Breath's in its savoir-faire,
Feeding in the warmness,
Of the coming air.
Now with eyes wide open,
Feeding me that summer breeze.
Watching the wind dance through,
Branches and leaves on every tree.
Wether sand, Water or grass,
Beneath my sandaled feet.
t feeds my heart and mind,
Where my soul is sure to meet.
Birds above on the wing,
Below crickets start to sing.
There's a abundance of life,
Everywhere because of spring.
That is why the being that is me,
Like a squirrel climbing in the trees.
Stops in wonderment to breath it in,
That's where my poetry of life begins.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 172 times
Written on 2022-04-19 at 01:59
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