I first turned this one in to Poetry.com. It was the first poem I ever wrote. I have somewhere around 400 of them now ... not all of them for the public, because I don’t think many would understand where I am coming from most of the time. I hope this one moves some...
the essence of a deep red rose,
spoken to the senses
from a distance,
but remains potent...
a still night whispered to,
by a gentle breeze,
that caresses the skin,
as the touch of a loved one in comfort...
stalks of tall grains,
pressed to and fro in the night
by a firm celestial hand...
the faint whistle blow,
of a train in the night and the low rumble of its wheels on tracks,
heard from afar...
The beautiful vision of white capped mountains,
and soft cool snow in the hand that melts in moments after the touch,
but stays in the memory...
The first cry of a newborn infant--
it’s first breath of life taken...
a tired, wrinkled hand placed in yours...
GOD’s touch is not always like a lightning bolt...
we feel it in all we know.
