Faraway Stars Never Made the Morning

A virgin in the fog,
a scorpion in the mist,
walking right through each other
A poet on her pillow,
an enigma in his sheets,
sleeplessly dreaming the night away
One old soul,
and a cold block of ice,
silently trying to be together
Eyes that build bridges,
and eyes that kill words,
caught in a gaze they refuse to escape
“You fool, you know you need her.”
“Please eyes, don’t let me cry.”
These are the voices love is made of
He’s been holding her hand,
she’s still singing their song,
but they’re beginning to wonder if tomorrow is coming
And he can’t kiss her,
because she won’t ask him
where it is they go from here
So if the sun doesn’t rise,
and they remain in the dark,
these bleeding hearts may well die in their sleep

Poetry from Thought-Box by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com

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