Silence Holds the Dawn
Silence holds the dawn
abandoned at death's door
purple gowns of shredded sheets entangle
a muddled mind mired on repeat
Am I not the one who travels your persuation
intent on carring home your torch
flickering in pools of sarsaperilla
soothing thought and sacred ails
Am I not your golden land of mass
where futures speak in tongues
dipped diligently in indelible ink
and written gracefully on your rungs
Behold my morning eyes
where visions grace their truth
whisper softly near my throne
let your royal declaration be known
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017
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