After the Morning’s End of Whisper’s and Sighs behind the Window-sill The window-sill becomes A thing so true of the night, As I write my life up to the edges where The tides reaped forth All the glory of the golden-love heart, Yet the tides of the windshield Could only break me On better times to tell, Where I broke the edges Of feelings which ran forth - Draped over the window-sill, In the light of day, Where tides can break These into the pure glory Of a time so true. 2014 ©
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 14:12:21 +0000