Can Poetry Heal?

  Many a poets have described  This memory of a reflected crimson escaping eyes  And bouncing off a breezy silk I couldn't tell more The difference of a sunset and those eyes But why should I They have far too much of it. If you would listen,  I know of this lush cave  With forgotten English ivy  Suspended like a fragile twine  But mistrust me less I have never dwelled more. And you see this turquoise water  A stranger once wrote 'Turquiose is a sadder blue' But, Did he ever see this? Woe to woo. But I might be unjust  To this fairness I graced  My eyes might have betrayed  Hitherto this beauty You could see more. 》Before Me

  A day, I would be less conscious of Of a sojourn I wouldn't remember When snow would please me none Let my chimney burn with smoke Ere kids gift me lavender berries Let me bake a black forest. My pastel walls would peel off soon And meowing cats would roll off yarns Flowy flocks would not beam With velvety bangs I once had. When my eyes would deny the tint it had And dawn would break with hue less shines Thus, I would lay On this bed of blue bells Grieve me not Youthful as April I had been Remember, A petal withers once  But blooms yet again.

  Is immortality achievable? I guess so, Between sad stanzas of poetries unspoken  And ignorant words unspoken There lies a chasm untouched Overlooked by the normal Seen only by the odd. An odd one, A term for cheerless Cheerless, She searches for meaning Meaning, In the blank space A futile search. But in this blank space  She crafts immortality  With a pen she writes.

Her hair breathed the color of his love His love a bloody red Stubborn it remains On this window sill of roses Unscathed it seems of its past But she waits  Behind the vermillion window pane Feeling the traces of his finger In the dust  She waits  But she knows That a man once left for war Can only gift the color of his love And no more His love a dauntless red Perhaps,  He might return Through this vermillion window pane .

  An ambitious little story I can tell Of a daisy that once dreamt of an orchard Lofty it felt  Against all odds  That defied its colors But how could you blame it A dasiy in a dying field  Is an innocent bystander. It drenches in the yellowing day A cruel fall to come And its phantom would not fathom The days yet to come. But how could you believe less A daisy with a bold heart Never can Autumn conquer it.

  The sound of the crashing waves Reminds me of a time When the silhouette of the silver moon Slowly melted in his eyes And the shallow sand Too shy of his charm Slipped across his tender fingers. I could almost trace  This uncalled movement of his hair While he smelled of this sweet summer rain I am to ascertain his presence  If he was any real Because he no longer sits here  To be washed ashore with me. He is no longer here.