One must have a mind of Stars
A map of midnight where
The sundial is no longer golden.
Shadow tracks the light
And nips at Daytime's heels
Gulping, she is never quenched.
Moon drapes her
Silver song, and runs a river
Down Earth's frozen cheek-
But Shadow isn't finished yet.
She blows an icy breath
Upon the ocean breast
And one by one,
Weary eyes become
A beacon, for which Stars are drawn.
They march to a rhythm
Only known by time,
And dancing in your
Frivolous glance,
Sink in the horizon's
Wildfire, whispering the final words of
Night's quiet divine.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Tea
PoesíaLife is but a barren desert without experiences. Experience shaped (and continues to shape) the topography of our Earth. Experience shaped (and continues to shape) me and you. Without them we are but barren wastelands.
