Glass

I am but a glass,
Invisibly I protect,
You all look through me.

©spor

Secret love

Deep in the forest ,
 A secret love,
On the floor,
Our limbs embraced,
Tangled and intertwined,
For a moment as one.
 Until,
There,
Where the reaching rays of the sun,
Warm our naked limbs,
Exposed to the world,
We part.



 ©spor

Droplets of me.

I write

Just as it comes to me,
And oft,

I do not try
Which is too oft,

Plain to see.

But sometimes,

Guided by a mystical power,
These words,

They group 

For me to share,
These, 

 beautifully 

  bountiful 

Words, 

I pluck from the air.

When they come this way,
I rearrange on page,

They are, 

No longer words,
But emotional souls,

They live and breath,
They love,
They lie,
These perfect,

 droplets ...

Of sound,
Can make you cry.

As they drip,

To the page 

From my bleeding heart,            
 a stain...
In the fibre,
Of page, 

So deep.

This leaking part of me,

I can not keep.

These wounds,
These words,
These sounds,
These perfect droplets of life,

Then,
Find themselves trapped,
Under surgical knife.

Those 

They,

They want to
Analyse,
Inspect,
Disect,                            
With out respect
And fail.

All they need do,

Is listen.

(C) spor

I do I do I do!

 I can almost see the fairies
  as they move from flower to leaf.
Then to their tiny houses
 not in the tree but underneath.
There is a flash of brilliant silver
 when sun beams hit a wing.
All around is quiet and peaceful
 a hushed lullaby they do sing.

(C) Spor

Inspired by photography by Siobhan Elvis Atkins.