Darren C Swartland

Within the palms of his hands
were placed quite a plentora of
options he should select from;
riches galore stood dangling above,
to the left were a world's secrets,
on the right appeared endless years,
below him was a cure for all illnesses.
The central spot had belonged to love,
a gift the mortal man chose to grasp,
which he sowed an eternal feeling of;
that continues through his descendants.

How you feel about me
is a portrait reflected by thee
not a picture which paints
the kind of person I'm really.
Nothing you do can draw
or erase anything from me.
My composition needs not
to be brushed by validity.

Tell me tales of your experiences
like a novel painting imagination.
Take me back like a time traveller
to days sleeping thumb in mouth.

Let me feel scars from your youth,
imprints that helped shaped you.
Allow me to witness an upbringing
through moments of conversation.

Awaken a deeper understanding
within me so I feel a connection
to passion strangers cant fathom.

Speak to me about everything,
whatever intrigues your thoughts.
I'll listen closely so no need to rush.

Like stationery I am going no where,
day in and day out I'll erase doubt
while sharpening what has lead
me to permanently mark her
as who my name shall be
shared with, I'll colour
in the days of my life
by penning down
my signature
ruling that
she shall
be my
wife.

I love you the way the sun loves the earth,
with warmth of every feeling it has birth,
growing flowers within you, you deserve,
planting a kiss gently upon your surfaces.
Though rhythm of our affection may dry
with devotion I'll never desert your cry
for I'll continually be the light of your life.