Sabine Borrageiro Poems

speak not of your life
beyond these doors
i shan't speak of mine
for here,
...

i sit and gaze
upon the page
devoid of word
its emptiness fills me
...

frenetically we scurry
through the dungeons of our minds
weaving this way
and that
...

its 12 midday
when you arrive
in your pressed
linen suit
...

the majestic sun
hangs determinedly
in purple-blue skies
it languors
...

your gentle knock
on my closed door
transformed my life
there you stood
...

if you should chance upon an elf
dancing barefoot upon dewy grass
he may seem solemn, within himself
stop nonetheless, do not pass
...

he held the wriggling baby
so tightly to his chest
with tears of joy he whispers
'i will always do my best
...