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Christian Bixler Sep 2015
Love,

a childs sigh, soft in innocence.
the sun on the heads of the lilies
in the field, the wind in the trees.

Joy,

laughter, high in the morning, low
in the evening. Her hair in the sunset,
ablaze with reflected glory, her eyes,
shining in the light of suns dying; mien
of angels.

Sorrow,

sobs in the stillness of the deepest
night. eyes red rimmed in the
morning light. the sound of a lock
softly clicking; tears on the threshold.

— The End —