YOU ARE READING

Poésie

Your voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.

My Name

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by RedBirdWrites

by RedBirdWrites

I'll keep my ears spread for it when daytime trips,

Cicadas and owls in their syllables and tricks,

And I will keep eavesdropping in on the winds that fade to blue -

Till I hear it, and I hear it from you.

I WILL TURN MY EARS UP WHEN THE RAIN DIES DOWN TO WHISPERING DROPS,

And the sky closes up from the thunderhead's cautious stops,

And I will even learn whether or not I can hear its hum in the moon -

Till I hear it, and I hear it from you.