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Neil Perry
He was like the sun itself,
So bright and warm,
Shining on others' hidden, secret side,
Warming their cold, lonely heart.
He was the beacon guiding the boys,
Yet he himself was lost.
He loved to act,
But denying his father was not a wise act,
At least not to him.
So the boy loved by many,
Chose an early ending.
Ok I'm sad...
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The warm hand of hers held up my hand, gently lifting it towards her as she lowered down her head towards it.
She placed her lips on my knuckles lightly, nose brushing the back of my hand slightly, I could feel her breath hitting my hand.
I could barely feel the movement of her lips against my skin as she muttered, almost inaudibly, "...as fragrant as spring flowers..."
The gentle hands stroking the delicate leaves, the soft lip, near the little plant, whispering encouragement after encouragement, hoping the youngling will thrive.
It will.
The long and slender fingers carefully curling around the stem, lifting the fragile flower up as it did so.
Oh, imagine that same hand softly caressing my face, telling me, without words, how much their owner loves me.
It was as if the colour blue was painted evenly, and lightly, over the wide canvas that spread above the world, going on eternally. The white of the fluffy clouds were in contrast with the blue, the white seemed so pure and unreal and distant that one could easily believe that it was painted on the sky.
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what feels good
There is such a thing as
loving too much
when it comes to loving you.
I hold the seashell to my ear; I hear the sea.
I walked the sand and
my feet touched each sand grain
like a million worry stones
in miniature.
I walked each direction and I only kept coming to the sea, the sea,
and the sea could not hold me.
I let myself be drowned a million times over, in miniature.
A gasp and a sputter.
How weak must you be to keep going under?
I love when the water catches my heels, but I learned
to keep the rest of my skin un-bared.
Few hours till dawn, the world is quiet. The wind cold yet gentle, soothing whoever that paid attention. She sat on the boat, the person she doesn't know well yet seems to know everything about steering the boat. Silence dawn between them, comfortable silence. The stars painted on the night sky are almost invisible thanks to the street lamps; the water glitters under the street lamps. The ripples that form as the boat proceeds, that are supposed to mean anything but calm seems so… calming. Everything seems like a dream, she's not sure whether she's awake anymore, and frankly she doesn't care.
