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A Spirit's Love Never Dies

Updated on May 30, 2022
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Barbara enjoys writing poems about eons ago. She is a romantic but daring in her writing to bring the subjects to life.

She Took her Quilt, Pen and Paper

She took her favorite quilt to the hilltop over-looking the sea,

The salty breeze filtered through her long black hair---which

created a titillating aura---she felt so jubilantly free.

She visioned Spanish Ships of her ancestors anchoring in the

deep azure and turquoise waters,

Orders shouted from a drunken Captain---in his quarters.

The mighty men of the past with their fearless ways,

Vanished eons ago--- descended to their watery graves.

She Waited While the Salt Breeze Blows
She Waited While the Salt Breeze Blows
His Ship Waited
His Ship Waited

Angels Watched and Sang

The purest of love never goes away,

It lives in the heart to stay,

Time cannot be measured,

Time together only treasured,

Salty waves still washes their place,

Where love was born in the human race,

Alpha and Omega with the in-between living,

Is when our lovers are giving.

Alone---where she was a writer of her dreams,

Truthfully, she did not wait for a man---by no means.

Maria had her pen and paper, and she inscribed him to her,

As plain as day, he came walking out of the sea, and she greeted “Good Morning, Sir.”

His long black hair and equally dark eyes surveyed her time and again without her surprise,

His strong hands reached out to her---and he stared into her light blue eyes.

He bowed and kissed her hand, this tall muscled rippling specimen of a man,

He hummed the Spanish Waltz as they danced---he kissed the inside of her hand.

His dark eye never left her face,

They memorized every curve and dimple which he concurred were beautiful and in the right place.

Her eyes shined in wonder at this handsome face towering above her---his lips were full and strong,

She wanted to feel them, and it didn’t take long.

He was hypnotized by her lips---so full and inviting and their softness to him was calling---take me now into the kissing bliss of all desires,

Master me---conquer me---put out all my fires.

She was exhausted from waiting,

Why---oh---why was he hesitating?

His hands cupped her face--- while with his thumbs he

caressed her beautiful cheek bones as if her skin a

rare treasure,

When he returned to his watery Hell---this would be his measure.

Of a gorgeous woman who felt right in his arms,

Only her great beauty and a pure heart could equal her charms.

They danced again and again, until the mid-night moon filtered

through the ship’s holey sails,

So they sat upon the her quilt---then he finally took her lips into the

sweetest, softest kiss which left a promise that love prevails.

The morning Dove woke her from her sleep,

She woke up on the hilltop which was very deep.

He had left in the early morning as she slept,

He left a note on her pillow that read--- inscribe me again, and---

next time will not be inept.

Many issue happened in her life, until she was very old before she

remembered to write,

Slowly with her crutches we carried her quilt to her hilltop once again

and wrote slowly into the night.

She wrote---My hair is gray and my eyesight is fading, my face is no

longer smooth and silky soft,

I know you will not want me---and then she heard someone cough.

There stood her man of long ago, with white hair and still strong

as one can be,

He kissed her hard and long before gathering her in his arms and

carrying her out to sea.

The mermaids were waiting to help her upon his ship to treasures


But first they drank from the “Fountain of Youth” and miraculously

their young lives were still ahead, they kissed as the old ship sailed

and groan.

Be this fantasy or truth, they are either alive or dead,

But many people saw his ship upon the high seas, only his fighting

skills to dread.

Love lives in our hearts forever and a day,

Don’t sell love short or cast it away.

Because this Dream Writer will dream and write in

her way,

To bring another love from the salty sea to her and

maybe to stay.

Choices is What Makes the World Go Around

Do you like poems of the past more than the present?

See results

This content reflects the personal opinions of the author. It is accurate and true to the best of the author’s knowledge and should not be substituted for impartial fact or advice in legal, political, or personal matters.

© 2012 Barbara Purvis Hunter


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