There She Stands
There she stands in the fog of a bridge.
Her curves outlined and showered by an indigo moon.
Her face alluring, her hazel eyes cheerless,
That I wonder what bitter sweet secrets lay on the tip of her lip.
What may my love weaved of wind do,
May it speak of my feelings for such a striking stranger?
But alas I too am a stranger whose lesser and mysterious appeals,
Are like the fog that surrounds her.
Visions of my shapeless lips are kissing her lips,
Visions of her laughter are riding on the wind that is me.
And visions of eternal bliss with bitter sweet arguments,
Allows me to muster courage,
That could take a raging sea or an erupting volcano.
But alas my heart to is a shapeless thing,
That my feelings for her are left floating in the air,
Never being able to sooth her pain or quench my curiosity.
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