but., no intent

but., no intent to live our lives as of the mime and we cheat on natures rent

( can’t we all get off this uphill climb?)

twisting on the roadways that man has

made for us to get from where we are to where we want

to be it just seems that we cant stop that speed

ing bus long enough to walk the hand hewn path to

see natures gift — a package of her beauty and she asks us daily “whats the fuss”?

(“can’t you stop to truly look at me”?)

Paradise

a gift, to know a singing glow from love so

deep to make the mountains shallow sweep the wind — the who the why - eyes lost in

dance of loves all- hallow’d dream perchance... ( a promise to keep) she whispers - she hopes

my hand, in tremble’d land - the touch

remained on you to speak a volume of words in lieu of bonding such a soul to seek the chance and begging for the question asked askance

(only for the few) i’m sure for us its true

a leap, you transported me to lands all

opened now the key all thrown to hades and how may i recover from this state of being? is this answer to my plea this freeing? ( a sweeping bow) this — from you I see «

and in this reverie with you yet so tenderly,

denied the mesh of flesh and soul that cried there remains the oneness of those seeing inner eyes, focused and decreeing (shall we hide?) not so I say oh no

weaving in and out with passing flow of

sprits glow enveloped with a passions blush so slow eternal kiss that passes over life and through the soul in half as with a knife (how do you know?) . all these things ,1 say

lest we disbelieve the premise that we weave for futures memories become naive that neverending spanning bridge to heav

ens gate transports my spirit none too late (the promise not to leave?) my love, must we beg to heed ?

—Poetry Copyrighted by Cynthia Stamps

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