Come to me, in the rain
Come to my room
Lie on my bed, next to me
Talk to me
Let me hear your voice
Your breath, your whisper
Look at me
Let me see your face
Your eyes, your lips
Lie with me
Let me feel your body
Your warmth, your touch
I wait for you
Come to me, in the rain
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
"I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung." ~ Rabindranath Tagore
- bard
- A mixture of poet and musician, warrior and philosopher, the bard, having grown weary of trying to find his place in the modern world, retired to the Lonely Bard Inn to contemplate his future. He is often seen drinking or writing alone (a personification of the inn itself), but from time to time he joins in the festivities that are always to be found in the pub. On occasion he even shares a poem or song with the sympathetic patrons, who are usually eager for new forms of amusement.
Well Done!
ReplyDeleteEllie
The picture that paints longs and hungers...
ReplyDeleteBrad thank-you for dropping by my humble blog. This poem reminds me of the loss of my love and the wanting of the touch or smell of those moments that will never be. Great piece of writing. Hope to see you often...I hope the bunny didn't scare you lol.
ReplyDeleteHuggs
JB
I really like the way that you write.
ReplyDeletesuch fragile, tender moments.
ReplyDelete