T'is a silence that summons the Gods
past the swan lakes, skies
pondering deep in the stars
floating in the clouds, homes
of distant them dreams
past this temple that was ever closed
un-noticed as we walked past
the teals, hand in hand
when the horizon is lit in hundred
colours, come wading to me
past the milling crowds
our words echo endlessly
on the wind-swept streets
by the lamp-shades
and autumn leaves
in the old book that was never opened
the fragrance of a red rose
pressed dry to this page
that spoke the story of love
night of the evening suns
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
T'is a silence that summons the Gods
past the swan lakes, skies
pondering deep in the stars
floating in the clouds, homes
of distant them dreams
past this temple that was ever closed
un-noticed as we walked past
the teals, hand in hand
when the horizon is lit in hundred
colours, come wading to me
past the milling crowds
our words echo endlessly
on the wind-swept streets
by the lamp-shades
and autumn leaves
in the old book that was never opened
the fragrance of a red rose
pressed dry to this page
that spoke the story of love
night of the evening suns
bit of love noir here
