Saturday, 1 December 2012

The Healing

No, today doesn’t die alone
Watch the withered colours run
From what the candle light has shone
Through tales of ghosts and freedom

Through touch of yore
And widened eyes of youth
That caress the fields of green
And within this forsaken shelter of little light
I laugh, and begin to breathe.

Will I find you in the tides?
At the periphery of waking?
Whisper and tame the spell of time
It is yours for the taking.

They may burn this tree down
But the roots will remain
The hope of age shall spring anew
After the falling of the rain.

And I shall follow your raindrops
Until on that cold floor, I kneel
If the sky is a wound
The moon will heal.

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