A Poem by UnderINK

A really old poem.

How steady are the breaths that run across my hair?
How clean are the arms that seem to always be right there?
How filthy are the hands that hold my broken face?
How quick are the feet that urge to take my place?

How bright is the smile that blankets the dawn?
How right is the justice that comes when I do wrong?
A resurrection of darkness, a wall of unwravelled light.
Brushing fingers against my flesh, as we escape into the night.

Hand in hand we walk barefoot through the trickling sands of time.
Where malice is a foreign word and love is an ancient rhyme.
But when the wall comes down and crumbles over me,
when theres no other way that you can make me see.

Blind by the seduction of the blackness left behind,
by the light that surrounds me, free from my confines.
Prodigious, vivid colors embrace my milky skin.
Seven days of virtue--seven days of sin.

A gown of ignorance to death, wear I; a veil from the unknown.
But bleeding through is everything that these hands of yours have shown.
Hand in hand we walk barefoot through the trickling sands of time.
Where malice is a foreign word, and love is an ancient rhyme.

Where silence is more frightening than footsteps on the stairs.
But ocean-tides caress your ears, and take away your cares.
Where eternity is longer than a million years combined.
Where, if I want to kiss you, your lips aren't hard to find.

And neither is your hand, as we walk into the sea.
Where heartbeats are in unison with our whispers in the breeze.

© 2008 UnderINK

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on February 8, 2008



Greenville, PA

Hi. I'm a writer. Obviously. I'm twenty years old and have Asperger's Syndrome, so I am not always the best at having conversations--- but I love to anyway. So if you can tolerate my awkwardness, d.. more..

Release Release

A Poem by UnderINK

Sunday Sunday

A Poem by UnderINK