Etched in the illusion of time
A heart laced with stardust evermore-
Tell me, graceful butterfly
That are woven through your soul.
Her tiny body quivers,
'Tis true poetry in motion.
Articulated music that is so soundless,
Like the nighttime air
'Pon the lips of sleeping children,
Is her wings beating 'gainst a summer's breeze.
Embraced by skillfully silent feet,
As they land
Along the wistfully weeping wild daisy flow'r-
White petals chastised into cream-like hues,
Too pristine for her majesty, the sun.
And even when morning dawns,
I listen to her stifled song
Of satin wings and velvet dreams...
How she can fly away,
Even with her dew-laden thoughts
Still lingering in the fields.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.--"Romeo and Juliet"
[This message has been edited by IndigoEve (08-09-2003 09:13 PM).]