Wisps of golden light

in contrast to shadow,

met by the crisp winter wind

breathe; a tangible echo to the melody.


A fortitude of silence

broken only by the occasional birdcall,

and the steady rhythm of the heart;

the music to my incoherent life.


Such majestic beauty arises from the clouds;

divine and tranquil the light-bulb to the universe,

dimming in the early twilight;

unspoken words hang detached in the air.


Two wandering souls magnetized by one anothers'

atmosphere--calling softly as not

to wake the others--will someday collide

and align themselves as one.


Outlined with the utinsal of touch,

beginnings do no harm, unless etched with

the fear of a definite ending; and perhaps,

departing with a solid promise to return again.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem