Pass the Darkness to Me

A well-lit and glorious torch
Descending through the mire,
With sunlight shrinking.

You are the desire of my condition.

A dream wrapped solely in gold,
And marked with innocence.

Every nook and cranny
Of your weathered hands,
Washed in the years of child rearing;
And accompanied with an angelic voice,
Unless I should fall,
Will bleed me dry of inspiration,
Will send me on into discomfort

Of the Soul.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s