PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Fletchers’ moss grows at edges nearest marshes of Northern climes

Unable to come and see only once in a lifetime,

I fear I was too late

Return, Fletcher’s moss come grow over mysteries of my fate

Reveal to me tastes of musky air

painted sweet sassafras that  entices

You are for my touch,

I long to feel soft moss as spring’s first kiss



Enchantment without lustful tension sublime

Still forbidden Fletcher’s moss the heated magic ascends

Reach to feel moss just that far away

I always miss

Your ethereal spirit it calls

my soul shifts in a paradigm

Words near still water’s ripple unending

Deep below before I drowned

I cannot remit

Stopped in my motion all was terminated

Moss left softly and leaves me here alone

Wryly, smile last born of crescent moons

Veils are now down I fear

I was too soon

Untangle clouds from  my silent night's violet skies

Moss of heaven’s so close to my blinded eyes