November 3rd, 2005
Current mood:
content Category: Writing and Poetry
I walk by these walls
Down the stained glass halls
All made of amber, ruby, and gold
So delicately
They arch over me
And under the streetlights they begin to unfold
But soon they grow
To be brittle and bow
Underneath weight of grey clouds that slide by
And then they break
By a single white flake
Shattering against a full bright blue sky
Those too soon turn grey
And lead to the day
That one white flake turns into many
They pile up so high
And underneath the colors lie
Till the colors that show are not any
And now empty frames
Wait for soft rain
To fill them back up with a changed hue
And the halls will refill
And cover the hills
And a life will have begun anew.
Down the stained glass halls
All made of amber, ruby, and gold
So delicately
They arch over me
And under the streetlights they begin to unfold
But soon they grow
To be brittle and bow
Underneath weight of grey clouds that slide by
And then they break
By a single white flake
Shattering against a full bright blue sky
Those too soon turn grey
And lead to the day
That one white flake turns into many
They pile up so high
And underneath the colors lie
Till the colors that show are not any
And now empty frames
Wait for soft rain
To fill them back up with a changed hue
And the halls will refill
And cover the hills
And a life will have begun anew.
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