Corner Pub #2 |
Incessantly Finite |
IndigoEve Member
since 2003-01-10
Posts 279Etched in the illusion of time |
Words Whispers of a past gone by Struggled with for centuries My own lies Breathe I see nothing in the twilight Except the soul of morning How could this be, dreamer of mine? You can see it fashioned, Golden fingertips alive in summer's sunsets Free-versed longing is tauten from shadows and storms Ah, the time for penance lengthens! Incessantly finite is our song (wait.) Hush, and hear what sultry strains are beckoned Poignantly painted, afresh by the dew Crystal water Found Darkened like the tears of midnight (see.) Lost butterflies quiver restlessly Hoping soundlessly Ever thoughtlessly For home Instead, my hand will pick them up, wings bruised Spirits shattered Through time Time, time is our eternal enemy Captor of the muse Saved at my fingertips, graced by crimson blood And hundreds of thousands and thousands of millions Of dreams They are lost So you, fair child of dawn, cast glances 'pon me Maiden of your ageless foe Twilight Because I hum the siren's lore of old (Wait and see.) For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, |
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Joyce Johnson
since 2001-03-10
Posts 9912Washington State |
elegant writing. Joyce |
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IndigoEve Member
since 2003-01-10
Posts 279Etched in the illusion of time |
Thank you For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, |
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