The past
Transcending the colours of memories pastAre thoughts that beg the future
To honour them with time
For time is short as the crow flies straight
through the eye of the unforgiving storm
And the past is fickle with a jaundiced heart
That raids the home of every dream
So if I could bend life's rigid bow
and let its arrows fly
I would pierce the past
and its jaundiced heart
and set all prisoners free.
© Rik - 16/09/2008
Poetry by Rik
Read 737 times
Written on 2008-09-16 at 21:47
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