Musings on Life, Love, and Linguine-Poetry & Writing
Holding on to acrid grief in day break’s waking hours the bitterest joy thief who usurps all your powers.
She walks with angels on a misty shore. The morning is damp and cold, but she does not feel it. As the frost smoke rises over the glassy lake, she stops, reflecting. At that moment, a magnificent large mouth bass escapes the water, breaking… Continue Reading “The Lake”
As the insistent blackbird cried There came a familiar voice He spoke to me and sighed You know this was a choice
-By Linda Lee Lyberg Dear Mother, is heaven a garden of honeyed roses Where you stroll among them in angelic repose,
-By Linda Lee Lyberg Your roses, blooming heady aroma of spice watered with my tears
-By Linda Lee Lyberg Your memory is a wilting rose Fraught with cold moonlight Red petals weep in silent repose Mourning its soul’s fated plight.
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