(no subject)
Leaves of harvest time fall bleeding an array of colors unto the cold ground.
Emotions like warm milk.
Faintly hearing the old gods of yester year whispering.
Longing all the hours with out your prescence to illuminate the dusty shadows.
Senses as sharpened as the highest apex of a church spire.
Hope as empty as a prayer.
Conditioned to your love wanting it whole but surrendered only miniscule pieces.
Recesses of repeating hope circling over and over nonceasing and becoming a rotten taste.
Look into my eyes and tell me of those heartfelt and sacred syllables lest I turn into ash and wither away never to see another gilded dawn..not wanting to without you.
Emotions like warm milk.
Faintly hearing the old gods of yester year whispering.
Longing all the hours with out your prescence to illuminate the dusty shadows.
Senses as sharpened as the highest apex of a church spire.
Hope as empty as a prayer.
Conditioned to your love wanting it whole but surrendered only miniscule pieces.
Recesses of repeating hope circling over and over nonceasing and becoming a rotten taste.
Look into my eyes and tell me of those heartfelt and sacred syllables lest I turn into ash and wither away never to see another gilded dawn..not wanting to without you.