Were I blind, I would still understand
that word which is a language of it's own.
I hear it in the two honks of a car horn
when a neighbour departs his family.
I feel it when it rains. Cats and dogs
nest in your lap, damp and comforted.
I smell it when my spouse cooks my favorite meal.
The burning wicks,
the aroma of freshly picked flowers,
it is our constant companion, dining at our table.

If I were not blind, I could find manuscripts dedicated to this word, craving to get it just right in feather and pen.
It has been carved on trees, in caves and tattooed on flesh. Worn on finger, wrist and neck, even a daisy chain to crown Mother with it.
The grasp of newborn fingers elicits it, and when you receive a warm smile that smoulders like an anointing over you, know you have been touched by it.

It is instinctual. At towering bridges it posts 'post it' notes. They hold on to you, not allowing you to jump, as your tears stream to join the waters that flow to the sea - reminding you we are one.

Another painterly piece written with eloquence, mig.

I agree love his style. looking forward to seeing more from him

One of your best poems ever Mig. The second stanza is amazing.

I’m so tired of this empty feeling.
I’m so tired of being alone.
I lay here staring at the ceiling,
Waiting by the phone.

I wish and I dream
That we’ll be together soon.
I can’t wait until we can look up hand in hand
At the stars and at the moon.

I try not to weep.
I hope he doesn’t hear my cries,
But I can’t stop the tears
Falling from my eyes.

Every day
Every hour
Every moment
I’m thinking of you through the miles
and loving you.