Senses

No purpose, those tears locked within
smile, for that dark cloud needs silver
patter of rain on your roof, tingles;
as you inhale freshness.

Your tongue salivates, to wafting aroma
from your mothers’ kitchen,
golden honey, red pepper, green veggies,
just as flowers splash colour.

Shiver, on a cold morning,
as warmth creeps, from a cuppa,
misty breath, rested limbs
stretch in anticipation of a day glorious.

Chirps, squeaks, shrill laughter,
echo sentiments of vivid life
as artists with rainbow’d canvases,
struggle happily to see in God’s eye.

Warm sunlight plays peeping tom,
across hills and trees in soft clouds
as it travels across the day’s sky,
blossoming life in each new day.

As twilight draws a veil,
shadows crawl in with a starry roof,
black as a raven, with silvery drops
the night brings dreamy sleep

A fiery glow, with crackling wood,
charm moths, into its sacrificial altar,
as we draw into our senses,
metaphorically fueling our soul.