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Shut

Art by Anne Magill

 

I am a sensitive soul.

Perhaps too much for a man.

I sigh at beauty. I am enchanted by charm. I can get lost in a look.

I cry at sad movies, often glad of the dark.

I am a romantic, Sad songs in my ear buds. Black and white films in the winter. Meetings in steamy-window bookshop cafes. Walks by the swan-gliding river. Dinner in the flickering light of whispering candles.

A message on my phone that ends in a kiss.

I am a dreamer. A poet. Someone who will never forget the press of lips.

And sometimes, only sometimes,  I am a fool.

Yet for all that, if I am hurt, I can become as hard and as cold as a Siberian frost.

And the doors to my heart

Slam

Shut.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

I wrote this almost exactly three years ago, and repeated the post two years ago and then a year ago. I am sure there were reasons for my writing the original. I am sure there must have been.
It captures the hopelessly romantic poet in me – and yet also the steel. A coldness, a stubbornness, a determination, an unbending will. I will never change. It is simply the way I am.
I hope it stands another repost.

 
10 Comments

Posted by on November 24, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Shut

Art by Anne Magill

 

I am a sensitive soul.

Perhaps too much for a man.

I sigh at beauty. I am enchanted by charm. I can get lost in a look.

I cry at sad movies, often glad of the dark.

I am a romantic, Sad songs in my ear buds. Black and white films in the winter. Meetings in steamy-window bookshop cafes. Walks by the swan-gliding river. Dinner in the flickering light of whispering candles.

A message on my phone that ends in a kiss.

I am a dreamer. A poet. Someone who will never forget the press of her lips.

And sometimes, only sometimes,  I am a fool.

Yet for all that, if I am hurt, I can become as hard and as cold as a Siberian frost.

And the doors to my heart

Slam

Shut.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

I wrote this almost exactly two years ago, and repeated the post a year ago. I am sure there were reasons for my writing the original.
It reflects the romantic poet in me – and yet also the steel. A coldness, a stubbornness, a determination, an unbending will. I will never change. It is simply the way I am.
I hope it stands another repost.

 
21 Comments

Posted by on November 20, 2016 in Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Shut

heartland83

I am a sensitive soul.

Perhaps too much for a man.

I sigh at beauty. I am enchanted by charm. I can get lost in a look.

I cry at sad movies, often glad of the dark.

I am a romantic, Sad songs in my ear buds. Black and white films in the winter. Meetings in steamy window bookshop cafes, walks by the swan-gliding river, dinner in the flickering light of whispering candles.

A message on my phone that ends in a kiss.

I am a dreamer. A poet. Someone who will never forget the press of her lips.

And sometimes, only sometimes,  I am a fool.

Yet for all that, if I am hurt, I can become as hard and as cold as a Siberian frost.

And the doors to my heart

Slam

Shut.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
22 Comments

Posted by on November 19, 2014 in Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,