The hunt begins when silence
ends, in the active evening
light, where once their were
dreams to hold, and lovers
sweet bliss.

The captive mind has wounds
to harsh to heal, in the light
of centuries, where only tears
fall in vain without a spoken
word.

Echo's float above clouds
of white, lingering it's cries
among the best, where only
children of today seem to rule
one by one, without any remorse
marking innocence denied.

The hunt begins with prayers
in vain, with tears falling with
each whisper in the night, when
shadows are darkened deep
without thoughts or questions..

Dreams are still for dreamers
cutting out the mystic spells
that control a lovers heart while
only one glance, could make the
hunt end without destruction to
spirituality, and loves sweet
embrace.


By Derena
© 2018 Derena (All rights reserved)