Alphabet Soup Minuscule

The Laundry Maid

Reseed

We are but, delicate plants that color the world of another.
The care one needs is inimitable to that of you or I.
As the scent of tomorrow lay upon our petals, short lived,
Thriving on touch and blooming fully in your spring.
Is it is the five petal blue I carry that you find delightful?
Or that I can comfortably reseed myself in your thoughts?

Here

The Laundry Maid:

Please check this piece out as it is amazing.

Originally posted on Eric M. Vogt: The Independent Poet:

We are here,
in the last
sliver of our lives,
with no one, nothing,
but the yokes
of our memories
and the garlands
of our hopes
and dreams
and needs.
But the moments
fade away.
We have no time
for such things,
for the hesitations
and the insecurities
and the lack of trust.
If we have
but one moment
to hold to,
but one person
to hold to
in the moment,
let our moments
be forevers
and our seconds
be eternities,
for tomorrow
may not come.
We may have
no more tomorrows;
we must not sorrow.
Let love have its moment
and let tomorrow come,
what will,
what may.
Let us smell
the scent of flowers.
Let us lie as one
in gardens of today.
Let us look to stars
ashine in black of night.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2014

View original

Beneath the Cirrus

Bits of you strike me,
Like overcast rays on a cornfield in September,
I tilt my head, and squeeze these gray eyes together tightly.
As you turn this light skin to golden.
You bring to life sweet freckles across an aging face.
For a moment I ponder,
As you hide beneath the cirrus.
Would there be reflection of anything more than what I can actually see.
For without you, my world is damp, like wet trousers after the rain.
Where will you be tomorrow when the leaves begin to change?

Bits of you once stroked me,
When the cicadas sang in June, and the corn rose slightly above the knee.
These fields now lay covered in white chenille.
My skin now pale, and the freckles and cirrus have all rushed away.

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