Poetry

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Strange is the language of the Heart
When two hearts speak,
Everything around fades into obscurity.
No other sound is welcome
Except the artistic beat of the heart.

Strange is the language of the Mind
When two minds meet in a power house of thoughts.
Each in its turn enhancing the perception of the other.
At times, in a tug of war
With the dialect of the heart.

Strange is the language of the Eyes
When two eyes meet in a silent combat.
The magic spell, a powerful magnet;
As each tries to drown into the whirlpool of sentiments
Predominant in the eyes of the other.

Strange is the language of the Soul
When two souls meet in a firm clasp,
Each mysteriously deciphering
The underlying emotions of the other.
Nothing can separate the sensitive vibes that pass
From one soul to the other.

Stranger still, is the language of Hope
That keeps the flame burning bright
With an ethereal light.
The feeling of warmth
Oblivious to any cold darkness.

The strangest of all
Is the language of Love,
The most reckoning force of them all.
The mastermind of all emotions;
It controls the senses, pacifies the mind
And revitalizes the heart
In a renaissance of the soul.

Maria Franco

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