The Postcard

Simply snapped,
Brusquely captured.

As seasons pass sweetly,
Performed for others,
Displayed for warmth,
Betraying that which lies within.

Enchantment.
A rosy wash beneath
Expectant hues.

Discarded thoughts,
Remembered heights.

Convenience draped in sentiment,
Images left to cross
The blue divide.
Wrote to spare us depth.

My duty fulfilled,
Three sentences,
Speak the truth.

Your Love,
Is worth a postcard.

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Dreams

Cornered,
Pressed beneath falling snow,
Left unsaid, unused, untried,
The morning breaks.

Impure,
Alone despite the crowds,
Washing eyes of vulgarous thoughts,
Mimicking the clown.

Laughter,
Used at once as self defense,
Carried harmlessly,
Wielded as our shield.

There will not come another,
Not as sweet as this.

Feverish,
Dreams that toss and turn,
Ghosts that flutter,
Past the window pane.

There could not be another,
Not as great as this.

So I will press onward,
Captured,
Soiled,
Filtering my passion,
Needing nothing more.