It is but momentary that the moon lingers for a while to catch the sun's first drops of radiance; to quench her thirst of purple warmth. And the sun to scurry up from the east to bask at the last of the moon's frost; missing the goosebumps and the rush of blood, only she could gravitate.
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It is at the strike of dawn that the light and dark could come together, two paradoxical realms - though forbidden – sharing the same insipid sky. And it is but in daybreak, when the world's still heavy with sleep that miracles do happen - that we shall meet again.
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Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
