Wednesday, 8 March 2017

What dreams are made of

So many sunsets have come and gone
So many summers, far too many winters
I sit by this running river, like we did every dusk
Watching the seasons as they pass me by
Under the shade of the same cloudy sky
In a blanket of blue, rendered by the moonlit night
With a smile, worn after years of wait
I sit here by the running river

Often, I stare to my side and paint you there.
You; with a smile saying more than words
You; hands extended longing for mine
With an unmatched brilliance in your eyes
As you spoke of your dreams for us, of us

Of cabins in the mountains, and carpets of snow
Of gliding in the rains and basking in the sun
Of books, tea and a thing called love

Often, I stare to my side and paint you there.

(Unfinished, unedited, bleh)

No comments:

Post a Comment