It's letting go feelings by paper
white virgin,
only stained by the drop of ink
that spreads and forms letters,
and letters make love, and born words
that come together
to link verses and verses.
I write... My imagination, my inspiration,
can sprout with the drop
of a spoken or written word,
by remembrances,
by the laughter of a child,
by the gaze of lovers,
by the bird lulling its offspring,
by your closeness.
The rain ... so special for poets.
The sea, where I could stay forever
and always could write something different.
Write to friendship is an act
of kindness and fidelity,
the universe dressed in gold and silver ...
the favorite stars of the poet.
The sadness, the frustration,
the forgetfulness, the betrayal,
is also the source to create lyrics.
And love ...
love, pitcher for poetry
for centuries.
Not everything has been written about love, thinking about the loved one,
the experiences, the meetings and the goodbye.
Lose yourself in the depths of a look,
a seductive smile, soft hands,
true words spoken in a whisper
that bristles the skin.
The paper blushes to feel the ink,
spilled by the passion of the poet in love.
The muse, the real woman,
the blue prince, the dreamed man,
the happiness of dedicating,
few or many stanzas...
it doesn't matter,
it is the way that poets travels
when they gives heart, body and soul
to their divine love,
writing a poetry.
© 2019 Patricia Picardi, poem & photo
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