Meh.

[chess]

In the darkness of the morning,
there was the shadow of a song.

It sat there, unassuming,
all the dark night long.

Its wings were made of fire
and its heart was made of ice
but it gave up all its glory
just to sit in the moonlight.

In the morning, when the sunlight
tiptoes through the frozen sky
the song will be there, still and frozen,
the song will wake and so will I.

In the dawning, in the gladness
of the free and open light
we will sit in calm, sweet silence
and wonder at the gift of sight.

And the song must go on singing
through the shining of the day
and the song must go on singing
though it does not know the way
and the song must go on singing
though it longs for darkest night
and the song must go on singing
through the wind and through the blight
though the trees they all are dying
and the birds they fall like stones
still the song must go on singing
to the dry and weary bones

and when in red and pink and orange
the sun clothes itself for rest
the song looks thin and wasted
but it shall sing again

in the darkness of the morning
there is the shadow of a song
and the silence gives it shelter
and the darkness keeps it warm

in the quiet of the morning
the dark shadow of a tune
shivers restless in its dreaming
of the harsh cold trials of noon.

Comments

[mickat24.livejournal.com]

That's absolutely lovely. I've put it in my memories. Did you write that?

[chess]

Yup, it just showed up in my head after I read a random line about fire and colour out of someone's journal that I don't even remember entirely now (and doesn't appear in the poem).

[mickat24.livejournal.com]

Wow, I'm in awe. Awesome. :)

[enismirdal.livejournal.com]

*pokes poem*

*pets pretty poem*

*likes*

Oooh, shinynice poem! :)

Hope you feel better soon *hugs*

[fhtagn.livejournal.com]

No relevance at all, I suppose. Well, actually, there is.