Fears of Losing Heaven

This:
Rippling green sea of Spring,
laced over in tiny blooms,
time to float in this sea,
a brown and black island.

Also this:
Visions of what can be
becoming what is,
always stretching,
always growing.

And this:
A voice that sings,
a voice that whispers
soft love in the night
and all day longing.

Even this:
Two big warm hands
molding the days with mine
into all the shapes of dreams
that were, that are, that will be.

Unintentional, anesthesia threatens it all.

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About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Free verse, love, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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