White Tulips

Calming innocence,

brought by the tide,

born from the sea’s foam.

 

Breathing.

Wandering.

Befriending the rain.

 

With half empty mugs,

half empty hearts.

In a nostalgia filled room,

She operates.

 

Soft spoken warmth,

in muted colourful days,

feelings are silent.

Yet she stays,

fearful hearts will break.

 

She speaks in melodies,

with wisdom and no strain.

 

Her eyes are luminescent ambers,

amidst the season’s cut gray.

 

Cupid’s arrow dances through me,

it’s painful how she knows.

 

The tide will come again,

I just hope with it,

she won’t go.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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