The wind is influenced by
The direction she walks in.
The sky is willful to carry her breath.
The withered leaves
Are first to caress her.
But the earth waits first
To hold her in death.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
The red velvet sun, too anxious to peer over the horizon
Finds solace in gently tempering the colors of the sky
But it is bound to rise,
As it is inflexible in deciding whether or not too.
So when it does
It dawns in fire.
The sunrise, rising
Dances with melancholy grace
In front of an audience who has seen her worn face
Countless amounts of times.
Who have fallen in love with her poise
Countless amounts of times.
She rises to the same men,
Apathetic to their sincere approaches,
Because she had always withered their ambition
And parched their lips,
Before kissing them
And when she concludes her performance
And her partners lay satisfied
She goes out to smoke,
But instead,
Finds herself wandering the streets
Allowing all the obscure shadows
To muffle her lovers
And let them fall asleep
Because as things go,
The sun never sleeps,
She only sleeps with.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC