Palaces

Care to join me for an evening in my humble home,
where coyotes serenade you and the gentle winds moan?
I have a chandelier made from the stars in the night
We can dance in the ballroom
'neath the moon's pale light.
Here in my home the juniper grows
we can walk holding hands
while sand massages our toes.
In this beautiful Eden, where
the prickly pears bloom
we could entertain dozens,
we have plenty of room
And when our guests go home
or you're just weary from the night
you can curl up, warm beside me
in the fire's amber light
I'll wish you sweetest slumber
as I gaze into your eyes.
All the world will be a palace
when I have you at my side.

Mirror's Glow

Author's Note: I'm not entirely sure about this one. It started out as one thing and seemed to become another. Also, the first four lines seem to throw it off for me, but I've included them because the poem wouldn't have come about had they never been written. 

I suppose that, like much of the poetry out there, what it means to you will be different than what it means to me anyway, so I reckon I shouldn't be to concerned.On the plus side, because of my uncertainty, I managed to write another poem that is sort of a follow-up. It's included here, too.

And as always, comments are welcome. Enjoy.

*****

"Mirror's Glow"

A moonlit night
cold, cold air
the stars are bright
and something's there

Elusive being
what might you be
I hear you sing
but cannot see

so come to me
make yourself known
join me for tea
inside my home

we'll be good friends
we'll laugh and smile
let's play pretend
just for awhile

that you are me
and I am you
that we are free
and dreams come true

come take my hand
I won't let go
of my friend who stands
in the mirror's glow

for i am me
and you are you
and let's just be
let us be true

accept each other
and sort of brothers
in reflected places
on our mirror's faces

*****

"POV"

I got no idea what this poem really means.
Will it be different for you and different for me?
Is it about learning to love yourself?
Or is it entirely about something else?
An ode to dopplegangers, perhaps?
It could be anything. I won't get too attached.
For it is what it is, there's no wrong or right,
when it comes to poems written late, late at night.

Little Lies

Author's Note: It's funny where inspiration can come frome. Even funnier what you'll be inspired to write. This came from a very snowy morning. At 3AM I awoke to about 3 inches of powder on the ground. By noon we had almost a foot.

I'm not sure where this poem comes from. Most of what I write is about me or how I'm feeling. This one isn't. It just came out.

The last two lines were added when I was rewriting it. I thought it made the poem feel more complete, but now I'm not sure that I like them being there at all. Something about the tone of them seems off. I've included them, nonetheless, italicized.

If you read this, let me know what you think about the last two lines (or the poem in general). Feedback is nice.

*****

The earth, wrapped up, in a blanket of white
That silently fell from the heavens last night
With blues and greys, quiet and cold
The world filled with little white lies that she told

Blue like the eyes that looked into his own
Grey like the morning when he knew she was gone
Quiet like their home after she went away
Cold like his heart, which she left that way

Lies that she spoke that he didn't quite see
Lies spoken of a love, never meant to be
Now he falls silent into winter's womb
He'll lay there 'til covered in an icy, white tomb