Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
I run my hand through the same old withered branches,
Drenched in the same old tired rain,
Far away the sunset harbours the lost gold of
Odysseys gone by, and if the wind were to hide
Within it some unremembered glow from the land
Of unknown secrets, the evening will gently
Whisk away the covers of the coquette,
And reveal to us a maiden under the bent willow,
Sweet as the apples from the orchards where our dreams
Were buried. She will beckon for the children
To gather around the fire and tell them the story
Of Zerah and Zulamith, whilst we twist the
Slender branches of the cherry tree into a throne
Fit for the brides of heaven to recline on,
Place at the altar a wreath of dead roses,
And hope that the silent fragrance borne to the shore
Is enough for the sea to give up the child
She drew to her heart in death’s storm.
…
And dare I tag anyone? @pollosky-in-blue perhaps you’ll like the story?