Temple of Cinnamon Memories
The echoes~
from a haunting refrain
buried deep,
within the many corridors
of her heart
weave their tangled, worn threads
playing on her memories
like the delicate, frayed strings
of a lonely violin.
Lingering whispers intricately
seek the depths to the labyrinth
of her soul, creating a tapestry
of wild cinnamon roots and leaves.
Her wounds of torn and shattered illusions
roar their voices in her mind
like a jungle of ethereal savagery
that clipped her silken dreams
leaving her flying with broken wings.
Then~
the tenderest of love came unto her
opening her eyes with magic rays
that touched her spirit
with its fiery fingers of love
opening her heart
to the rebirth of lost dreams.
When his wings unfolded
he beckoned her to come
And ~
She followed
Anne P Murray
C@2011 LadeeAnne
Copyright © Anne P. Murray | Year Posted 2011
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