Written In the Sky
Do you hear them?
Woodland creature amidst the thicket, drawn, oblivious to indifference beneath
heavenly luminescence.
And I, baring admiration in acknowledgement, plea to the awakening of your
fellow ear as companion.
Fields breathe life of their expulsion.
Shall we bask in the glorious change of season, on a born spring time's eve?
For their patronage, provisions of choral orchestration.
Perish less an encore as hindrance our sweet nothings.
Subtle persuasiveness a lonesome breeze, elusive not embrace in
subsequence.
Fairy taled forever after, cherishing each moment before a split horizon.
Welcomed forward, a blanket daylight broken, enthralled it's aerial spectacle.
Cast aside a burning pulpit, naysayers light in hibernation another moon.
Beckon their call I fear less, the ignorant giant may slumber the vanity of a
thousand beauties.
View this as blessing, pain staking journey to paradise lost in a moment in time.
For all aware, lying motionless to my appall, left only the repenting of His
miracles.
You and I my love, caressed for the baring witness, carry on yet an elevated plain.
Thusly, seeking no more a destination, we rejoice the symphony.
Man's interpretation nor vivid name sake, hold no flame justly the collage of
burning spheres once a traverse.
Only intelligence crane necks to strain, harboring each harvest time.
Envious to my art is green it's comparison, my pallet tempered by such exhibit.
I could all but tear my focal point amiss, if not consumed for the miniature
rendering in your impressionist eyes.
Gravitational pull toward our equator, warmth ensues as spinning upon our axis.
Feverishly embarking, nomads chartering new territory.
Staff set deeply, we unite in discovery, labeling lesser of events.
For her love was mere keepsake, and ours yet eternal, we should dare find it
anxiously in our paths.
Sharing not again the perspective of another judgement, your insight scars my
vision of all other pieces.
Our puzzle connected, swept away with it's marvelous fragrance on crisp air.
Can you hear them even still?
Creatures of the night applauding our performance, given provisions to a
soundtrack amidst our harmony.
Conductors none the less amongst the most revered composers.
And so, we have shed our burden of curiosity, a skin void relevance sought in
temptation.
Baring witness to approval, His foreseeing, we pass our torch in His honor,
conceiving a page unturned in a scrapbook yet to be bound.
Copyright © Corey Keener | Year Posted 2006
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