Thursday, April 28, 2011

Lemon Tree, What's yet to come & Where the Grey Mist Goes

Lemons picked from frost ripened vine,
Peaches snagged from trees of serpentine

Grapes enlarging to the taste
In love, we make our escape

Scouring for eternity,
Recipes wide arranged

From kitchen to cupboard
From Scansion to stone

The way we choose to live,
Is a promise we each can own

A shifting wind alters, confuse
Bile lurking, disguised muse

Shrapnel from ethereal ends
Time sifts slow as motion grows

Lifting pressure we’ve held inside
Releasing darkness upon the day

Heated cloud
Erupting, cleansing

Acid Baths alive compounding

Tears of sun, shining bright
Tears of home, our guiding lights

Soft and still the grey mist follows

Where only we ourselves would go

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