Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Different Ages, Different Loves

When she was just fifteen…
She was but a child
But a sweet teen
She was kind of wild
Full of desire
Excited about love
In the ivory palaces of her mind
Which rose a white dove:
With a fury
Flawless in a never changing
World ...

She was just fifteen….

When she was twenty one
She was an adult
Unfolding splendor in the shades of heaven
Which she bought
To place a kiss that multiplied seven
With her sweet rapture
With beauty that glistens
With every rainbow
That played in with a light that shines
Looking for love
Like a delicate flower
With a heart of amorous whispers
So pleasing to her design
She was but twenty one….

When she was just thirty two
She had children
Her lovely face never hidden
With simple stories of heaven
With letters of praise
But still looking for love
Where love burns brilliantly
But all in the wrong places
Where the fullness of sweetness
Surrounds her with such wonders
She was but thirty two

When she was just forty five
She was abounding in glory
With hands holding
But she couldn’t say the words
With the sun bulging
Pulsating in her throat
Nothing could escape her sweet star
The word is love but still looking
With sweet air that turns
Mournful into light rain
Of her mind
She was just forty five...

When she was just fifty
Heaven was just beyond her door
Looking in the mirror
Where she didn’t know anymore
She thought she found love
In the winds of her chariot
But he went away
Her passion the most mindful of her soul
With grace and beauty in its divine power
She was just fifty...

When she was fifty five
The winds of time
On a hot summer night
Then she saw the light
And that
Took away the right
Of sweet love she thought
Where a scared space of the world
Let go and she sought
She was only fifty five...

When she was just sixty years old
She had lost love
It was not always so
A star she couldn’t resist
And found love
Her love was earth rising
With the most remarkable being
With a noble soul
Of denying love to be
Sought a different oblivion
Now all that remain are memories
Drowning the already dead
She was just sixty

Sweet letters of her soul from the beginning to the end; her lovely face never ending:
With scared looks and noble gesture her eyes were inflamed with the sun, basting in the glory of night.
Reaching for the one that she truly loves:
By: Debbie Brooks
©Copyright 2012 by Poet - Deborah Brooks-Langford, Debbie, or Deborah Brooks. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used for re-distribution, provided that full and clear credit is given to Deborah Brooks-Langford, Debbie, or Deborah Brooks with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. All rights reserved. Any violation or infringement of this copyright notice will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

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