| By r4gingbull,
on 02-01-2005 14:09
|
Views : 1289  |
Favoured : 24 |
Published in : , Poems |
my mind wanders and curves around human thoughts and dreams,
hearing the silent essence of what this life might mean.
While holding on to hope and wondering of nights the stars shine high,
I find the love that kindles me begin to pass me by.
My person has no weakness above the life she holds,
and no anger creates true sympathy until the storys retold.
I capture this true compartment that tangles each web I weave,
though grievance is my threshold that darkens my eyes to deceive.
The anger played by stories can only have one end,
yet happiness captures the beauty that love ones conceive and depend.
The way I see the day has crumbled before my very eyes,
yet all my ears have company until my passion dies.
To hear the whispers the angles leave for souls with no true hope,
is love to hearts with tender sleeves who slip at the grasp of His rope.
Its hard to realize His essence is true love,
but until you breath the silent truth there is no other gift from above.
By Taubah Blackman
Last update : 02-01-2005 14:09
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