My heart will sink, but my mind will parry.
How quaint are the days that we soulfully marry.
A serotinal awaking, just before the rest.
A holy gratitude pondering abreast.
Needless to cohere.
For our breathes sail alone.
On top of the olive branch, the avian throne.
Wisdom lurking, shadowing the light.
Marking the scheme inside this blight.
-
Author:
Noah (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2017 07:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.