Dancer

I stretch like a rubber band,
I can walk on my hand,
I spin like a tornado,
Preform when time due,
I always lace up my special pink shoe,
Who,
Could I Be?

My Tragedy

My Tragedy
That day continues to dawn on me
that very day
My Tragedy
The fear, hatred, and sadness of my lost
beloved Divon
My heart aches with pain and sorrow
The thought takes my breath away
I often talk to you and pray that you will stay
That day continues to dawn on me
That very day
My Tragedy
Though we were not yet grown
Our love has grown to affinity
I have had bad days but this can't be conquered.
My dare beloved Divon
This horrified dream will never end
That day continues to dawn on me
That very day
My tragedy
You have left me here to suffer and cry.

© Sharlette Henry 

Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-tragedy-the-lost-of-my-beloved#ixzz3Vuo4XFOV
Family Friend Poems 

Dreams

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known. 

Edgar Allan Poe

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

-Pablo Neruda
coppywrighted

The Wheel (inspired by Father G. St Isidore Parish)

The wheel is spinning,
turning,
always changing,
so are we,
on good days we are on top of the wheel,
on bad days,
we slowly rotate down.
Bad things happen to everyone,
never fear,
never waste a tear,
storms of emotions,
or just plain bad luck,
good weather,
good days,
sunshine rays,
never fear the cycle,
The wheel of life.
-Elise A. Mills
coppywright2015

The Tree

The Tree

Leaves of silk,

Grows afield,

Home to the stray,

her flowers bloom in May,

Her limbs stand tall,

She looks over them all,

Home to the chirping of spring chatter,

Throw a rock at it, and birds will scatter,

Rough never weaker,

Tears fall upon her leaves of silk,

Watering the base,

The foundation which she was born upon,

Grows deep within our nations soil,

Under the summer heat she boils,

Tree of life,

Wife to the ground,

Daughter of life.

My tree,

My home,

The tree I grew.

-Elise A. Mills

Coppywright 2015