“The portrait of you”


The portrait of you

 

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

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Just words

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imickeyd:</p>
<p>Nicole - Peter Coulson</p>
<p>                      The portrait of youPhantom dreams led me to you. You were my illusion of perfection. I was flattered when you condemn me to loving you forever by a gesture of hello and releasing your veil of perfection. You create nuptial dances into early mornings and create portraits of never-ending love into the German Winter nights. I recited poetry  to you, deep into the midnight hours. We found the charity of peace and harmony enough to warm up the cold days and nights  of the German Winter. Beneath the Spring moon. The utopia of love fell to earth. I learn the hollow heart cannot be seen when camouflage by the perfection of beauty. I learn beauty wasn’t perfection.Just a asylum of wishes and wants to diminish and condemn hopeful men to want, what they should not need.Old men in the old taverns talks of old wars and beautiful woman. The painful memories become less with time and separation. Old men will paint with words portraits of woman, siren or muse. As dances they would repeat again. They would tell you. Better to know heaven and hell than have phantom dreams never attempted.                   Coyote/John castellenas

imickeyd:(Thank you Tumblr)

Nicole – Peter Coulson

The portrait of you

Phantom dreams led me to you. You were my illusion of perfection. I was flattered when you condemn me to loving you forever by a gesture of hello and releasing your veil of perfection. You create nuptial dances into early mornings and create portraits of never-ending love into the German Winter nights.

I recited poetry  to you, deep into the midnight hours. We found the charity of peace and harmony enough to warm up the cold days and nights  of the German Winter. Beneath the Spring moon. The utopia of love fell to earth. I learn the hollow heart cannot be seen when camouflage by the perfection of beauty. I learn beauty wasn’t perfection.

Just an asylum of wishes and wants to diminish and condemn hopeful men to want, what they should not need.

Old men in the old taverns talks of old wars and beautiful woman. The painful memories become less with time and separation. Old men will paint with words portraits of woman, siren or muse. As dances they would repeat again. They would tell you. Better to know heaven and hell than have phantom dreams never attempted.

Coyote/John castellenas

© 2015 Coyote Poetry

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