Tuesday, November 02, 2004

The others have yet to be written

I


A quickening pulse upon my lips

Accompanies hands whom awaken before dawn

In a tired act revived to its original splendor.

The sun has come to retire the moon,

Entwined in a new days beginning.

II

Every poet is a thief

How many lines must I steal in admiration before I take your attention?

The hands of time are no longer spinning incessantly;

They’re tugging at your heartstrings adoringly

As your mind works out a conundrum

Of grace before passion.


III

In the warmth of her smile

In the cold of uncertainty

I kneel unarmed and unmoved before a wall fortified in haste.

Kiss me again as I camp under stars and daylight

Awaiting arid mortar.



2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Please, give me link to download XRumer 7.0!!!
Thanks!

Always yours,
miss MW

Anonymous said...

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