Hush, hush, to hear the ghosts of the night, the crimson skies deepen and tides flow to fight. Hush the sand, demurring to salt, cascades and burns to no ones fault. The shadows of ghostly nights deep blue, the cold colors bring to me, and then to you. I hear the cackle and the crackle of colors, they melt away with all its shades of crimson, as blood in the mind glides and soars along the narrow margin of the canvas edge encompassing a prism.
Hush, to hear this sound, when ghosts amongst the trees come bending down; ever lasting, these hearts are fasting.
I hear the night, as boughs lay silent, sighs the deep; the depth of color will one day meet.
Hush, hush, a ghost’s refrain, do you hear the night? It’s ours to keep.
Sands wounded and cold, ignored by the sea, a beat flows to the edge, as if to meet a pledge. Salt’s purity stings upon a distant shore my core then sings, never more, never more.
Cascades and runs this ghost flowing tide.
Back, back I cry, as a bird takes flight.
No, no, say these ghosts of the night.
Footsteps closer, soft in tread
Near now to this empty bed.
We walk tonight with ghosts long ago
Night hushed, to be broken soon
Hush these dreams, to a ghostly moon.
No comments:
Post a Comment