Buried in the hidden confines
of my Soul
You Reside
your throne, so Dark
under years of antiquated
Luster
*
You sit, pensive,
always pensive,
even when you smile
*
It is eternally Dusk
in your Chamber
but never cold
*
Kindly you invite me in
with a Nod
Kindly too, you offer me a seat,
*
but I cannot sit,
instead, I wait,
wait for your question,
the one that will allow
me to tell you
just how much I love you
Here, in this Chamber
and beyond
*
My King,
of long ago,
My Heart
*
Painting By George Rouault
The Old King
The regal that lies within the subconscious — beautiful!
!!!! <3
Keren, reading your poem, I can’t help but wonder – in the trinity of self, is it the heart who is King?
How beautifully questioned Andrea. xo
Sitting in the Chamber, Your question, my question ever unfolds before Your eyes, my eyes, in eternal flow.
You write poetry Ignacio, only you don’t know it. <3
Again, so lovely Kiki.
Lovely! Leaves me with more questions than answers.
YAAAY! 😉