Tuesday, 10 February 2015

The Setting Sun

Morning sun,
an orange dawn.
the winds are blunt,
as the day is born.

Birds are tweeting,
trees are swaying.
Squirrels are leaping,
as the roots are praying.

A meadow of green,
shadows of a cool breeze.
Flowers of spring like dreams,
blooming with gentle peace.

Now the sun is setting,
from crispy orange to blood red.
it's as if the sky is regretting,
that the sun even had a bed.

A blanket of cloudless black,
and therein some glimmering gems.
The stars had guided us on track,
yet we still wanted to blame them.

The world is strange,
a beauty in the day.
But the world has change,
It is shadow; a reflection of hate.

The heavens will one day open,
and hope is firm that hell will close.
The angels blessing hearts once broken,
clad in golden light and majestic clothes.

So we smile,
We stay happy.
We face trials,
But we're happy.





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