Silver Sun
Come with me.
I'll pull you into the valiant never.
Where the sounds of the salient are muted,
and all you can hear are the heartbeats of the survivors.
They play a song just for you.
If you listen closely,
you can catch their conscience humming a red-letter chime.
There's a blue flute in there somewhere,
whistling the tears of those that have loved and lost.
Then beneath that, the golden violins
their strings echoing against the frost of the broken hearted.
The drums, the clarinets, the pianos and the purple base.
I think you might like this symphony.
I think it can be your home.
If you let it be your silver sun
instead of another bleeding moon.
YOU ARE READING
Tearful Canvas: A Collection
PoetryA book of poetry. My very own twisted sanctuary - pieces of art, history, love, hate, and everything in between.
