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Light stripes through lace curtains.
 
Like a room of restless memories that never really sleep
They just dance between the pages of the dreams they have to keep,
The doors of evening’s whispers breath so softly as they stroll along
For sometime in between the lines there’s so much more than just a song,
Like light stripes through lace curtains is the coming morning light
For lace upon her face is so much more than Whitby white,
As the room unlocks its doors swing wide, while shadows paint the room
With magic poetry of wonderment that lights up all the gloom.


Just a sprinkling of life’s seasoning brings it’s flavours to the fore
For life’s spice is often tasteless drifting on a far off shore,
Yet draped within its distant realms, its taste often returns
And quite often in the scheme of things, its warmth so often burns,
Though in a corner in the shade life’s flavour can come home
Like sun tipped traces scattered round upon the seashore’s foam,
And often as we’re looking down, we should look up to the sky
Real life’s as much for tasting as it is for asking why.


Yet sunlight paints more than faces as it wanders up the bay
It doesn’t really have a voice although it has so much to say,
It can turn a dancing cornfield into a shining sea of gold
It can dissipate the darkness and can wipe away the cold,
Through life’s miles it brings back smiles to lift our souls aloft
And everywhere down leafy lanes, it makes the green seem soft,
Like it does through white lace netting as it writes upon room walls
For real poetry can com from nothing as its whisper gently calls…

By 33whitby4654

© 2019 33whitby4654 (All rights reserved)

 

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