Poems ✍️

To pine is pain of a fragile heart,
where whispers lie in a sad place.
I try to think of bright, sunny days
and place you still on a happy face.
Your image rests not, nor fades away,
for I see you each and every day.
You paint the pages of poems written
and sit in galleries of fine paintings.
Wherever I walk, your shadow follows
and your footprints line the sand.
My mind won’t rest until we meet again,
my body needs your gentle touch,
and the warmth of your golden hand.
I’ll wait for you on higher ground,
I’ll know you when the trumpet sounds.

Written: Feb.14,2008