Hazel eyes,

Shining auburn hair,

Solve me the riddle I said.

The heart said,

These clues make it clear,

She still rules over your heart.

Fine pink lips,

And a perfect nose,

Tell me more of her I said.

The heart said,

Nobody else but one,

With whom you long to be.

Pray tell me,

For I like to hear,

More and more about the one.

And the heart replied:

She's Daphne,

Your laurel of yesteryears.

So I heard my heart,

Speak more and more about her,

Till it bled.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Composed on the night of June the 17th 2008, in Karachi, Pakistan.

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palewingedpoetess's picture

serenely senseless
the heart beats more poignantly
for what it most wants
love and love's entourage of
cherished moments
that broth of benevolence
and the accompanying sweet
elixir of tender companionship
there is no equivalent
not in this realm
for love beseeches love
of its own frequency
or love of a bit higher target
than itself
even in these thick, dull nearly
prehistoric bodies we find
ourselves maneuvering in
we seek that plain of love
that best feeds our personal
we seek out quintessential reflections
of our better selves
and ache for a deeper love
we can never in the moment fully remember
soul love that is which I'm speaking
now of
for the soul is recessive
but in its quietness and tranquility
its so influential upon certain breeds
of man
surface livers whose glow
the world gets a faint glimmer of
for goodness like a light can not easily
hide itself beneath a bushel
not when acceptance and love
perpetually remain
our every day calling card
in oh so many ways and for
oh so many individuals
the human heart was
made to bleed
bleed love
for it cleanses in very many ways
a cold life too dirtied by
the common gouges of existence
who's wounds would otherwise
fester and never have necessary
conditions to heal
for 'Real Love Is But A Nurse Of Hope'
gently pressing that wound
with a fresh, clean bandage...............
(April 18, 2010 658am)