The dark end of the empty street is where her soul longs to reside cloaking her imperfections hiding in the sombre night. Advertisements
This then is my truest of truths: I miss you in my waking hours when night is gone and morning comes for then there are no magical dreams to which I may once more succumb.
My Beloved Why are these tainted tears familiar Have they been patiently waiting in the cold dark corners
I am left with myths of prowess from an apostle of love
Is it you
At the broken window while tears slide down her face she wonders how she came to be in this dreadful place At the broken window while the world keeps spinning on Her life has fallen around her with the coming of…
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…
-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 memory is a wilting rose Fraught with cold moonlight Red petals weep in silent repose Mourning its soul’s fated plight.
-By Linda Lee Lyberg Storm in her soul Thundering river of salted tears