Saturday, 9 June 2012

A Flower Kept In A Pocket

You can't see the words I speak
When nobody is around,
Or what I think when I look,
When I don't make a sound.

You can't sense what I feel
When walking in the wood,
Or why, at all, I walk.
I wish you could.

You don't see the beauty
That burns my soul,
Or what I want, what I need
To make me feel whole.

You don't see the light
That fills this place,
Or the sweet scented flowers
That at your feet, grace.

You wont ever look with these eyes of mine,
That see this truth;
And for all that is written and drawn,
You are the living proof.

You wont warm to the touch
Of my two hands, you see.
I'll hold them out wide
And you'll never come to me.

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