Eyes
Are said to be a window,
To what lies within,
To the secrets that try
To stay hidden.
Colors
Shine and reflect with what
they’re holding, with what
They’re feeling. Seen
by those who care to look.
Shapes
Work inside, allowing them to
See outside, bringing the world
To their heart. Letting them decide
Who, or what, to believe.
Waiting
To see, to find another,
A complimentary color, shape,
Who looks into the window,
But finds a mirror instead.
Tag: poem
Cidney’s Song
What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
repeating—
Worth sharing with others?
Sincerity.
He sings from within,
his eyes full of light,
When he sees,
When he hears,
His person, his place.
His melody holds strong,
His heart full of joy,
When he runs,
When he jumps,
His life, his love.
He writes the harmony,
His mind adjusting,
To his new role,
To his new lot,
His home, his forever.
What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
Repeating—
Sincerity.
A story worth sharing.
Little Things
It’s the little things
most don’t notice.
An ear, flicking
Listening,
To what you say.
Whether it’s voiced.
Or through movement.
Or not at all.
An eye, blinking,
Thinking
Of what you want,
Warm and soft, full.
Or cold and distant.
Empty, unforgiven mistakes.
A muscle, twitching,
Reacting,
To something small.
A reminder of how light,
How soft, sensitive,
You need to be.
A muzzle, blowing,
Searching,
For anything you might give.
Breathing into your palm,
Or your ear. Putting you
Back
together.
It’s the small pieces of
Themselves.
They so freely give,
To replace the pieces
Of our own hearts
That go missing.
And it’s these little things,
Most don’t notice.
One Word at a Time 