My Cup of Tea
He is the crimson bold-red dragon, that
traversing her varies dreams,
slaying monster of all evils,
and hoist me out every passing life’s nightmares;
The one who softly rubbing a drop of magic tincture, upon
the long serrated gash inside an injured crying heart,
carrying and comforting it into an olive-green velvet cradle, then
tenderly weaving a magic ribbon of
butterfly spirit upon her wounded left shoulder.
Yet when she woke up, he was long gone,
only the cool breeze whispering through the window-pane,
beckoning fresh morning news,
and the well-being of him on the other side…
A clear glass bottle arched over from the dreamworld,
rolling upon her white pillow case,
sealed with sparkling ocean flowers, and a little sweet note:
“The red-tea is ready in the kitchen, whenever you’re ready to get up”
You are my cup of tea.
His Strength
There was a time whence I once thought that your strength that overpowered me was something only to feel.
To me it was simply a tangible thing
as you lifted a weight or stealthily moved.
My vision of strength was to look unto you-a tall, dark, strong image of no one but you.
That image would halt, stopping anything from unraveling me.
For your intense fearlessness could replant great mountains and monumental hurdles ascend.
Those things which supplanted me, stood in my way when I was adrift,
Or during those times when I was too
Crippled by frights and creepy, great myths
That crept into my life before you came along
They tore at my image and burned through my soul.
Until you eliminated every threat before me.
The gripping, great fear banished my strength;
Then you arrived and conquered the pain.
The power from you did into me drain
And strength was renewed
Pain at once buried; for,
You shielded my soul and did intimidate the fear within me.
Your strength did capture the dread and crush it to pieces.
So now when dejection and fears bubble forth,
An image of your strength takes deep hold of me.
That physique embodied real strength
From inside and out
The grip you once grasped with, the power of your hand
Is lessening a bit as time passes by
But those images past
Can't soon be forgotten.
And I honest must be so listen to me-
At once I did say to see is to b'hold.
Yet whence once muscle and physique change, erode or merely fade-
the strength which you have shown
Will toujours be admired as your strength from within.