The realisation dawned with the gentle swathe of a cool summer morning
Fond thoughts of you and those warm images no longer fills my mind
Memories of yester years and the yearnings of tender lingering swooning
That once rode on every beat of my pacing heart now seem hard to find
Whilst in the depth of me a silence carries a lament chilling with mourning
The years have their stories to tell but stilted performances is not living
Neither are the smiles that hide behind deceits so cold and unkind
We walked the jagged path but your voice sought kinship with axes striking
And when you offered water your eyes showed you had gone blind
Unable to see a soul holding for you nothing but a brimful of loving
Someday somewhere the brightness dims and chimes will be ringing
The late harvest will arrive floating in a wake of unforgiving wind
In your palm the rosy red apple of the past is now bitter and shrivelling
Its a tale told a million times so lets know the scribe not be fined
While the sages ask, what price is truth and harmony for a state of being
Copyright LaurenceA. 4th June 2018. All right reserved
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
The realisation dawned with the gentle swathe of a cool summer morning
Fond thoughts of you and those warm images no longer fills my mind
Memories of yester years and the yearnings of tender lingering swooning
That once rode on every beat of my pacing heart now seem hard to find
Whilst in the depth of me a silence carries a lament chilling with mourning
The years have their stories to tell but stilted performances is not living
Neither are the smiles that hide behind deceits so cold and unkind
We walked the jagged path but your voice sought kinship with axes striking
And when you offered water your eyes showed you had gone blind
Unable to see a soul holding for you nothing but a brimful of loving
Someday somewhere the brightness dims and chimes will be ringing
The late harvest will arrive floating in a wake of unforgiving wind
In your palm the rosy red apple of the past is now bitter and shrivelling
Its a tale told a million times so lets know the scribe not be fined
While the sages ask, what price is truth and harmony for a state of being
Copyright LaurenceA. 4th June 2018. All right reserved
