 |
The flame still burns. Fuelledby desire no less with thatI may not leave want.
|
|
Futureforever nears;yet never quite to getthere. It keeps a stranger to me,always.
|
|
I see the laughterflit across grass. Over,up, about, as if autumnleaves had flown their branch.Silently weaving her route.A million hearts setupon the..
|
|
Daylightshe came, like acandle in the night, and beamedher rays upon the reasons formy sight.
|
|
Winterwhite and leafless,freezing skies, and gnawingfingers. Winter winter, motherof spring.
|
|
Othertimes, like most times,their absence is all weneed to be truly in thepresent.To turn,we do and haveyet, in our slumberingsleep and wakeful hours,..
|
|
Here he comes. Whitestallion. Deathofautumnfloodingthroughwintersgate.Ghostly,fallingfrom stars,clovenhoovesdeepintothe fields. Rememberme? I, whobesi..
|
|
I was inspired to write this after reading a few early sonnets. I had tried to make this a sonnet also, but it didn't turn out like that.
|
|
Winter chases autumn downstream,and the future it is but a dream.-Neither one quite catches the other.And if it did... What hands would be so great?Wh..
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This