Made In ......

If our souls were moths
And time was aflame
Burning away like a holy sun
If lives were on an invisible line

Drawn from first breath to last gasp
Like a single thread wound on Heavens loom
Woven of wonder, sleep and dreams
Thought in impossible words

Once you struck a tinder night
Lit up like Summers high ablaze
Enchantment met to last for days

I asked for a light some slight charade
And without a catch a match we made.



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 680 times
Written on 2013-10-13 at 01:15

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