deception of perception
Dance beneath the moon,in a rite following the night.
The sensuality of her
feelings, the very essence
of her breathe.
splinters of glass cakes
covers the floor with an
sparkling aura of light as
the angel took her very
first steps.
Moons shining in, with a
warmth deep, from the
sky above as from the
lightpost outside forming
light flowers in different
colours, my colour of pain
is red. red as blood. red
like a rose.
mysteriously the angel flies
beneath the sunset board.
well,
i never got to see her face.
and
reminiscence is nothing i
have left.
but well today is a good day
for i know what i have left.
Poetry by asshole
Read 402 times
Written on 2007-03-02 at 04:11
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