Monday, September 20, 2004

A couple poems by Madrea

I'm Dying part II

The smells of fresh-cut roses,
hot coffee in the mornings,
and heavy rains
singing me to sleep.
The feels of soft silk against my skin,
hot showers on cold mornings,
and caffiene running through my viens
The sights of the sun setting on the horizon,
still waters being broken,
and beautiful people,
The sounds of the simple phrase:
"I like you",
and heavy music on fuzzy days,
and laughter that's meant.

That thing called love

Seems I can never keep it
(That thing called love)
Boredom creeps to me
or trust slips from you
Seems I'm "too wild", or
you're all worn out
Can't provide it
(That thing called love)
I'm pushing it, or
you're giving it up
(That thing called love)
You named it, and
I claimed it,
But YOU disowned it
(That thing called love)
I wish I had it
(That thing called love)
In the palm of my hand
because I would never release it.


4 comments:

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