SEVEN seven
Easel on her hill of greenness
Cheeks shyly red of a virgin sight
Breeze tickle eyelashes and paintbrush
Ocean tries to guess the coast's vibrations
Storm of petals land on a blank canvas
Rainbows cry hidden-in-the-background gardens
She drops her brush, her fingers weak and helpless
She never knew Souls can melt in liquid desire
Bells on sheep play an antique choir's tune
He lets her pony tail loose in a "Be gentle" whisper
The kiss of Gods on an angel's face, eyelids closed
A dove surrounded by sheltering, unexplainable tenderness
*
" I MUST GO"....
"I know"...
Understood, Heavenly Silence
Be HIS Mother!
vvvv
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by Iolanda Scripca 2/1/2010 |
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