THE NIGHT’S PURSE

The last of a songbird’s notes have fallen into the night’s purse,
and you have known my dances are behind shadows where some of
me has hidden to heal or die.

It seems there are no truths but only dirt and tears and at last
the only remaining mouth that spills songs into hearts
and tender arms is yours my love.

Where we exist there are no stationary objects but a wide orbit
that entertains the unknowable; to feel the butterfly awaken
is an infinite joy stooped upon the vast spirals of our Cathedral.

This love, our love, is universal and eternal.

Forever yours!

:: 07-12-2017 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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