November 11, 2009

The Dusk


As the sun gets back to sleep,
and the sparrows end their chirp,
the silence speaks it's words,
a note uttered so deep.
The breeze begins to flow,
with it wings of satin follow,
cleansing up the filth,
of what the sky protects below.
The moon high beyond,
uncovers it's face from the clouds,
the stars waiting for it,
leaving home they come out.
Travels like a wandering ship,
the clouds on their way to the trip,
to the journey endless and ever,
the capturing pictures in my eyes I keep.
Post a Comment