
may we always be iridescent,
Timeless like the spring,
echoing across the sky,
Never fathoming what could have been.
Shining on the summer shore,
reminding us just to be,
Floating endless in the havens of,
creating our version of harmony.
May we travel across time,
dimensions drifting in our memories,
A flash of light,
we bare the gift of glee,
Diluting into nothingness,
may we forget we ever hated,
0r felt the lack of love,
Let Us wash away,
The untidiness of --
the Judgement of the rough,
grant us the serenity,
when they whisper behind doors,
For they never knew the love,
of a beggar and a whore.
Pardoned by His hands,
Holy in praise,
without vain,
a gift graced to those,
absence of disdain.
for he was a beggar of love,
and she was a whore to life,
giving bodies to those,
who earned no strife.
she pleaded guilty,
to a heart unknown,
a mind wandering,
in Her he found a home.
nights watched silken sheets,
a penny to his name,
regardless, She beckoned him close,
seeking no expectation of fame.
tumbling tongues filled hollowed halls,
they oozed & perused in laughter,
as the morningbird calls.
adrift in dreams,
of reality,
they faced themselves,
in sweet misery.
there was no cost,
to a pair perfect in soul,
who gave themselves freely,
and loved with no goal.
They sank into the moment,
with no fortune or fare,
caught in the closure,
of God's simple care.
A rapture's delight,
poisoned by unearthly sight,
a misunderstood love,
sank into a modern plight,
no longer lonely to the night,
their last gasps of air,
taken without fight.
For a city of sinners,
subdued to their fears,
felt threatened by,
a whore and a beggar,
not needing their peers.
Though birthed in laughter,
and seeded in love,
there was no query,
it was a gift from above.
For the moment they shared,
harbored a holy home,
surrendering a beggar and a whore,
an eternity together in heaven to roam.
About the Creator
Veronica
I am the moss silken on watered stones, rooted deep in rich soil. Earthen creature, I am the night sky -starry and strayed from the forgotten path of poets - I am, the chatter from the iron rails rattling as the train carries itself home.



Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.