Peter Dome

Whispers in a cursing wind
anger in stormy skies
rain falling like mournful tears
fear in the heart
...

The need to express myself
drives my pen to write
the paper tells my story
Each poem a jigsaw piece
...

Born into a life of poverty hardship and squalor
where hunger bites and disease is rife
in the dirty cobbled streets
where its a daily battle to stay alive
...

Before there's a rainbow there must be a little rain
before you find true love
there must be a little pain
you may run from your problems
...

Oh how I wish
I could have set free
the native American Indian
with pride and dignity
...

Each line on her tired face
could tell many stories
her hair maybe sparse and grey
but when I look into
...

A room full of mottled multicolored butterflies
enclosed within a creative space
of artful design
to inspire and aspire
...

Trough the long ever changing
corridor of time
that history sometime revels
Echo's of the past have a habit of repeating itself
...

Iv'e never been one to follow people like sheep
and I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe
I may not be loved by everyone
but I strive for goodness truth and peace.
...

Sometimes
I feel like I'm standing upon the edge of a cliff
swaying too and throw
in a icy cold biting breeze
...

She planted seeds of love deep
within my heart
that flourished and bloomed
like a flower
...

As the night sucombs and goes to rest
and morning slowly settles in
dark velvet sky turn to vibrant blue
the air is crisp
...

Little girl lost
who never grew up
burdened throughout her short life
by a lack of her Mothers love.
...

When there's an end to greed
and gold turns to dust
and there's enough food to feed the starving
and real justice replaces the unjust
...

To see your face once more
is like seeing the sun again
after a cold dark long winter
to feel you in my arms again
...

During the cold empty corridors of silence
where the mind and thoughts are free to roam
undesturbed by life's din and clutter
I am at one with myself again
...

Skin to skin
heart to heart
bonded together
by sheer devotion
...

Tender winter kisses
evoke the warmth of summer in my heart
and instead of snow
flowers grow
...

The smell of summer harvested strawberries
a field of lavender
swaying in a gentle breeze
the odour of freshly cut grass
the salty air of the sea
...

Long forgotten like an old piece of luggage
at the back of the lost and found
That nobody ever claims
worn tired and dusty
...