Saturday, August 29, 2009

TheDistant Impression


Steal a tone.
From the bell that toll,
The sound so that hen can lay.

New life sprung from a phenix,
A child, not of ash, but of clay;
the flesh of those lovers flame.

The like that merely flicker if left
a moment in the rain. That time which
seemed as though a century lasted. The kind
that brought you to your knees, and prayed for.
It's swiftly passing. To have to hold, to be so bold
As to ask, to gaze on the souls other half..

No comments:

Post a Comment