Category: Writers Block
Before the Storm
(7-8-07)
A summer's humid wind whips her hair into her eyes,
those eyes without light, without life.
The smell of coming rain in the air brings her out tonight, this night.
Out to sit on the cracking sidewalk
to lift her face up to the sky.
Evening deftly vails the light that ruled the day,
as people dance in a crowded room to the faint steady pulse of music.
And there she sits, so dark and alone,
singing softly some strange sweet song,
some song about the angel of music weaving magic in her mind.
Upon the marble steps by day as people swarm around,
a lone vestle upon the seas, her face a cloudy mirror.
While waves of heat blanket the Earth, she wilts; a dying rose.
But in the electric air tonight, her face seems to glow.
Goddess of word, of laughter, of song,
why don't you speak to me?
Mysterious flower of the nighttime air,
let your song take wing.
yep...cool
Hauntingly Beautiful
~*Thunderous MidNight*~
Love it love it love it.
Very good, thanks.
Bob