Sound Of Silence reblog

Mooving…

Literary Remains

It is the calm before the storm —
and the deepest of feelings
before being expressed.
It is the 3am
in the arms of a lover —
and the pause
before the kiss.
It is the sun
being swallowed
by the ocean —
and the watchful moon
robbed of speech in solitude.
It is the thought before the prayer —
and the lips that are closed
over all that love cannot say.
It is the shadow that falls
upon a gravestone in twilight —
and the sound of grass
as it grows.
It is the rose petals
that yawn
in the morning sun —
and the clock
that ran out of time.
It is the hummingbird
that lost its wings —
and the rainbow
that pierces the sky.
It is the star
before it turns to dust —
and tears
wept in sleep.
It is the feather
that falls to…

View original post 102 more words

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
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