Questions Run In Lines of Ink

Perhaps new colors and a pocketful of delight is what you wish for
When the only thing you would do is tear them to pieces
Slowly but surely you simply drink up your dreams
As they stand up before you questioning
Your thirsty heart’s seams

You ask me to put the light of our sun on the vines of your life
Then cry when the mist on their leaves becomes dry
So while we debate whether to open doors
What we ignore now becomes huge
Yet we still wonder why

Questions run in lines of ink until silence deafens what is complete
Because no sooner are they composed, you surrender
Wondering if you tried your best to know
If chaos could be trusted at all
With a heart so tender

This is what remains when your heart forgets an unspoken kindness
A faint murmur that can hold much more than you realize
It is always ready to give your thirsty heart a drink
When debating whether to open doors
To those lines of ink

Reviews

[Jeremy Wyatt]

Such sad, gentle wistfulness Neva, and such resonance for me.
I read so many of your poems, and often they make me uneasy that I might do some of the careless or thoughtless things you can touch upon...Your poems make me think hard I guess.
I am trying to get through a biiiig pile of read requests, taking me a while but there are such treasures here :o)

[Joel M Frye]

Really like the third stanza in particular, Neva. This speaks volumes to me. Thank you.

[Chris Smith Welshpoetcs]

You just get better and better with your poetry.

[Kelsie Eileen Stark]

Such vivid questions roll out of this piece..simply brilliant.

[unknown]

Again silence sparks a wonder of questions to answered. They can be found in those lines of ink. Lovely poem.

[FJ Davis]

Words ultimately meant to delicately short-circuit the reader's mind, that the mood elicited may sing to the soul
Enchanting.

[Maggie]

This poem reminds me of someone who talks about change, but when change blossoms over the horizon they panic...

[Forest Green]

Brings to be visions of rose petals being crushed and squeezed until the floral scent is gone. Tenderness know no comfort when it is mistreated and hopeful days are ruined with the sun...spent to poverty by a sceaming, damaged heart.

Truly revealing of a frightful, all too common struggle.

Excellent...

[HB]

Nice word choice. Good ending.

[Tommy]

This piece is quenching Neva, I really enjoyed the images and metaphors telling of the thirst of heart being as a piece of paper wanting to drink in the ink...

Great Write!
RLG,
Tommy

[Robin]

this is the heart in pause , yet willing ~ beautifully written