A chord,
stricken and harmonious with itself,
and the internal turmoil that tends,
to rise to the surface.

Billowing waves of pianic tunes,
rise and fall with the turn of the clock hands,
as they are watched till day break,
for just one word.

Just one word uttered,
sends vibrations throughout the room,
changing the color and tone of the,
once pale walls to reds and yellows,
of the fading sun.

Enveloping the soft white flesh,
covered with angel down,
his tongue wraps her hair as she stares,
quite contently.

Protector of old,
with wise golden eyes,
their hearts beat in unison,
as he is her guardian.

No trembling comes from beneath her skin,
even as that word is spoken,
no fear reflects her eyes,
not even as death approaches.

10/19/2003

Posted on 10/19/2003
Copyright © 2024 Stephanie Myers