Her

Her face blooms from the underground sap, that feeds the blossoms in the trees. The nose striking the sky, and the eyes brown as the trunks that stand strong, even in winter when the wind blows, and the rain falls. Perhaps it's the tyranny of my lack of passion, or my weakness, my body needless of caress and love, again I look at her, and all I see is a soul that echoes in acceptance.

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This is a very beautiful poem Abon. I really enjoyed reading this work. Thank you for sharing your art with us.

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

That first line is deep in meaning, and I really like its poetry and the rest that followed it. Well penned. tyfs