Her Hands

On the nails of her hands she paints venetian blinds
Silver sails in the sands where no one ever finds

Standing on a bridge of starry night, he looks but never sees
Her dreaming eyes dancing in the light, speak like soliloquies


Morning coming like an opening door
With more than enough words to say
Everything is but nothing is more
Than just another bill to pay


Still faraway beyond what's known
She waits and paints her sight
Deep inside herself all alone
And waiting for her Night



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 187 times
Written on 2022-05-30 at 15:23

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