Saturday, January 01, 2005

Gone.

Wrinkled seed blossoming in the night,
Nurtured and pampered by the dirt.
As darkness was punctured by precious light,
Songs were sung by the king of birds.

The silver moth with patterned wings;
Fluttering along the sea of moonbeams…
Severed bonds could only bring
Broken words and tragedies.

Caught in a web filled with morning dews,
Surrendering to the grinning spider…
Awaiting the moment of truth;
Where my future would be nothing but cinders.

Soul sears,
At the vanished embraces.
Eyes wide open with gleaming tears,
For it marks the end of all chases.


Love,
Brenda.
1/01/2005 11:58:00 PM