Restless to be writing again. Forcing myself to breathe until Saturday, then I’m diving back into the deep end. One novel down, two more to go!
Hearts and Flowers
Brooke E. Wayne
Tonight we ride the wild bull with wild flowers in my hair,
And a whirlwind of impatience reaches a calmness,
Through misty waters pressed with fog,
From a lingering dream some time before.
Let our minds wander,
Never too far from home,
And journey beyond that precious place
We once believed would keep us forever.
And all that we feel will be reflected in our eyes,
Surrounding our laughter,
Expressed within our presence
As we smile blindly beyond the sun
Gazing into Heaven with thanksgiving.
We are and were before we knew—
Destiny held us in His hands.
For God’s breath is inside our souls
To carry us into Eternity, long after our time,
Has cast shadows on any doubt drifting in from the past.
For in His eyes we are one—
Flesh of my flesh
As we have promised to be together.
Amidst any garden of roses,
Your love is purer than the rain that feeds the stems.
For I am merely one petal,
Capturing the dew of angel’s tears
Like liquid kisses trickling down my neck.
The colors, never muted within your smile,
Glow brightly in my eyes as we look upon the future.
I see Heaven
Surrounding a place in our dreams,
Where simple pleasures, unfolding in our love,
Once sacrificed their time.
Our lives entwined—
Yielding to moments impressed into our hearts.
We saunter, hand in hand, along our deserted shore,
Underneath that silver tapestry
With clouds strewn across an indefinite blue
Like islands in the sky.
And when this world has withered us,
We will walk on into the Light.
For time will have passed through our blood,
And the years will have been but a song
On the tongue of our Creator.
I wrote this when I was 18 years old–in pen from beginning to end with zero editing, and I haven’t changed a single word or grammatical faux pas since.
It’s been well over twenty years later, and I still look at this poem as an anthem of love in my life. It tells the imagined story of true love from the ‘wedding night’ until ‘death do us part’. Not too bad for a teenager who knew nothing of love at the time I scratched it out on a piece of binder paper in my bedroom one night. I borrowed my simile, ‘like liquid kisses trickling down my neck,’ for the novel I’ve recently completed. The line whispers to me on Page 2 as a little secret that I’m letting you in on—a journey that I am still traversing as a writer of romance, bending my path into a full circle that will keep tumbling towards traditional publication one day.
PS. I took the picture, and yes, my cupcake was delicious! Happy Valentine’s Day,
xox Brooke E. Wayne xox
I love this Blog!
The Dictionary of Victorian Insults & Niceties celebrates the coming of Valentine’s Day by sharing ten of the most romantic words you never knew… or have I too underestimated your vocabulary?
- numinous adj. describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted; the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired.
- serein n. a fine rain falling from a cloudless sky.
- cordiform adj. heart-shaped.
- eudaimonia n. human flourishing; a contented state.
- sweven n. a vision seen in a dream.
- selcouth adj., adv., n. (to make or be/the state or characteristic of) unfamiliar, unusual, rare; strange, marvellous, wonderful.
- trouvaille n. something lovely that was found by accident.
- basorexia n. the overwhelming desire to kiss (this is a medical term).
- philocaly n. the love of beauty.
- redamancy n. the act of loving someone who loves you; a love returned in full.
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TINY TREASURES: I walk past a row of naked trees poking their scrawny, leafless branches heavenward in hopes of a little springtime sunshine almost every day. Each of these wanton trees have become home to the nesting birds in the neighborhood. One of these tiny treasures could fit in the palm of my hand—it’s so itty-bitty. Others are a tad bigger, and all of them stand out against the stormy sky like scribbles among sticks. I love how the birds don’t seem to mind that hundreds of children breeze by their nesting eggs day after day, as the school is right across the street. I secretly hope that the limbs of these scrappy trees don’t sprout blooms too soon so that when the babies are hatched, my little girls can catch a glimpse of the baby birds poking their bobbling heads up chirping for some wormy-nommers from all of the momma birds.