Post by Rebecca Flynn on Jan 28, 2009 9:55:06 GMT -5
Under the boughs of a mighty oak
we sat like stretching cats,
our hearts spilling proud silence
to nourish roots tangled in the moist earth
Your eyes were transfixed on the horizon
when I looked up to you, and cried
for want of touching the still air
as it left your parted lips
How could you have known
that the Moon, in waiting for her beloved Sun,
finds naught but emptiness
in an ocean of stars?
That her vigil is spent attending
those few precious moments
where they can exist together,
when she is content with her fading grasp on the world?
I closed my eyes and felt you near,
knowing the hearts of star-crossed planets;
for i would never lament a sunrise
if in it, I saw you reflected
How could you have known
that in these fading hours,
I want nothing more than to watch the day break
and feel your hand wrapped in mine?
I would hold you to this mortal form
if you would not rise again;
for although the miles stretch long between us,
it is with you, that I know myself
My love, do not forget the song in my voice!
look at me once before you go,
and know what it is to see yourself reflected
in the eyes of another
I know the Dawn is beckoning, but were you to stay here,
Could you not be my Lancelot, and I, your Guinevere?
we sat like stretching cats,
our hearts spilling proud silence
to nourish roots tangled in the moist earth
Your eyes were transfixed on the horizon
when I looked up to you, and cried
for want of touching the still air
as it left your parted lips
How could you have known
that the Moon, in waiting for her beloved Sun,
finds naught but emptiness
in an ocean of stars?
That her vigil is spent attending
those few precious moments
where they can exist together,
when she is content with her fading grasp on the world?
I closed my eyes and felt you near,
knowing the hearts of star-crossed planets;
for i would never lament a sunrise
if in it, I saw you reflected
How could you have known
that in these fading hours,
I want nothing more than to watch the day break
and feel your hand wrapped in mine?
I would hold you to this mortal form
if you would not rise again;
for although the miles stretch long between us,
it is with you, that I know myself
My love, do not forget the song in my voice!
look at me once before you go,
and know what it is to see yourself reflected
in the eyes of another
I know the Dawn is beckoning, but were you to stay here,
Could you not be my Lancelot, and I, your Guinevere?
