My dear Holy Birma so sweet and intelligent, that a serious and good conversation is possible and having full understandments, like a human being.
My Nights are whispering voices of unspoken words My mind sleeping, so still in silent thoughts My heart, a dull bearer of evil and defence and in a hurry, in a rushing speed of desire that grow and grow in every pace. Ambitions and eager forcing my steps That also make the time to slowly dwell to where I trace without excuse and regrets In perfect love, and in love being made and raised by youth that last to the end. And here I host for what shall be your delight for what I can add to your trembling lips and your shyness, that bow in front of me a barrier, hungering for attention that I lay light upon, to faithfully shine. Compressed are my lips of the Nights Dead, the unspoken words from whispering voices My mind illuminating thoughts out of dreams My heart bouncing and rushing, seeking in desire, a leap in the dark and for what come to pass from a barrier of shyness, hungering for attention Now faithfully shining in the Night. June 2019 ©k.c.
Is it true what have been said? That faith creates the finest looks That beauty grows from winter trees From icy moors and stiffened seas. And is it true that the bare branches Have caught all life in the early buds And young days of shining smiles give pure mirth and spiritual light. Can I trust my sleeping mind? In these so early moments That tender, but flickering flames From my gloomy windows, move Like gracious but shivering signs. And in my options of accepted audit will I hereby leave for more a day? To give an unbroken substantial limit To find itself and in that, thyself to stay. Copyright 13th of March kc.