Asleep in night's busom a raven wakes to feast upon hope's soul. light comes together to form a splintered mirror in the heat of your eye and tears taste bitter on love's sweet tounge.
words told in the dark do naught but echo among the broken fragments of your mind, sending the light back again to tease, to taunt.
nothing can be found in this light, but must be held dear, or lost. a thousand rains fall from that trellis of your cheek, onto pale hands upturned and waiting.
hands once so gentle they held a rose, but now there are only thorns. can this rose bloom again?
Prince Alexis of Xerra · Tue Oct 16, 2007 @ 09:59pm · 1 Comments |