Too dark the roads of West Hills
How can the weaver find
She needs to search the thread beyond
So soon the moon would lounge
And leave her dreaming none.

Too quick the finder knocks on door
Her work has just begun
The truth beneath the creeping sun
If they could understand
Can dream like stream withstand?

Too new the heart that silence talks
Has disowned paradise
A privilege that heaven keeps
When door is left ajar
Seduces her so far.

Other posts by Nin

This entry was posted on Monday, May 12th, 2008 at 4:03 pm by Nin and is filed under Lamentations, Love and Friendship. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.