You read my open book,

and did not reject it’s pages,

you embraced the ink, the smudges,

along with the exclamation points,

rough sentences, and handsome metaphors,

always hoping the love story would never end.

You became my poetry, my muse,

never hidden, filling me with wonder,

giving my mouth and pen the words,

so we can both live, beyond the stars,

in the greatest of all stories.

My Love.


Shared today celebrating previous work.

Originally posted October 2015     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

21 thoughts on “Pages

  1. I read this to my husband because it expressed the same as what he does for me in my writing. He smiled and asked if I wrote it. Of course I told him no, but he knew I felt the same about how much he believes in my gift. ☺️

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