She was the white canvas
And all the scenes that I would paint;
She was the blank diary
And all the words that I would write;
She was the abandoned piano
And all the notes that I would play;
She was the silent sky
And all the songs that I would sing;
She was the empty stage
And all the roles that I would act;
She was the bare ground
And all the moves that I would dance.
She was a masterpiece in herself
Not needing a poor poet like me;
But for me, she was a necessity.
For without love,
A poet is but blind.
~azmina
YOU ARE READING
Of Floating Buoys and Broken Bells
Poetry"Poetry flowed like little rivulets From the ocean that was her soul." ~azmina Our souls dance to the rhythm of poetry. A small collection of my poems that will, hopefully, provide the beats to your dance.
