POEMS OF SHEENA MOSIER.
Logic
Logically, how does one know when they
are ready for a relationship? They say
that love is when you care more for another,
then you do yourself. If you don’t love yourself,
how can you love another?
Love, to me, would be with someone who can
make my day better by smiling at me,
one who is not afraid to show their love for me.
Someone, who, without me asking, would put
their arms around me, and would lay my head
on their chest. No words would need to be
spoken.
A couple of times in my life, I thought that I
had a love like that. Emotionally, I gave it my
all, only to end up alone, as I am now.
I know what I want in a man, but I wonder if
what I want is realistic.
I don’t know how to act, and I don’t know what
to say so I just take each day as it comes. How
Realistic is that?
Just Enjoy
Pausing, I stop to breathe in the air,
everywhere I look, there is something
there.
Maybe it’s the ripple in the lake, the
currents moving softly amidst the
duck’s wake.
Looking across the lake, all
is serene, watching the insects
scrambling, to have a happy queen.
Cattails weave softly in the breeze,
and don’t forget the milkweeds that
are waiting to be squeezed.
Sitting near the lake, watching the
sun go down, It wouldn’t matter
to me, if no one else is around.
This is how my life, I choose to
live, I’ve given all my life, there’s
nothing left to give.
It is now peace that I do seek,
no longer will I hide myself,
acting so very meek.
So take me as I am, or walk away
from me, people who want me is
where I choose to be.
Strolling
Strolling quietly out into the night,
not another soul, anywhere in
sight.
The warm breeze, passing through
my hair, the smell of flowers,
seductively in the air.
Thoughts of him, running through
my mind, the depth of his feelings,
in his eyes I hope to find.
A couple times, I broke through
his defense, after kissing me
passionately, afterwards, in
his eyes he did wince.
As I rubbed his cheek after
seeing his pain, that hopeless
look is his eyes, not what I
wanted to gain.
He told me once, of me he was
afraid, will he ever give in
to these waters where
we gently wade?
(Sheena Mosier)
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