*


Our Lives



We waited for the door to open all our lives were spent
Just to find out what or who we thought we were
As true as life could be, you were always there
So clear to me as a holy smoke's sacred sacrament

Like beautiful lost leaves in a forest of light 
We went dancing through the years never known
All alone inside a world no one else could find
You found so easily without a hitch to post 
It is written on paper too white to be read
Silver thimbles sewn like symbols stitching the thread
Became a shining name like a wing singing a song more sweet
Than hopeless night could ever raise a bridge to bear
The dreams you sang to me were all so lovely in intent
So clear to me as a holy smoke's sacrament,
While we waited for the door to open, all our lives . . .








Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 669 times
Written on 2013-06-10 at 03:26

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Commentally Ill
sounds like someone forgot to use the doorbell.

:)
2013-06-11


StillHoppin The PoetBay support member heart!
"It is written on paper too white to be read"

Excellent poetry, Chaucer. Wow...
2013-06-10