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INFINITY WITH IN THE HANDS,,,,,,,,,,,,,ALICENCHAINS

  Author:  37038  Category:(Poetry) Created:(6/4/2002 8:13:00 AM)
This post has been Viewed (1074 times)



you took my hand and asked for me to trust you
this beginning where i was smiling, and felt your fingers
weave through mine, and we walked on with the road crumbling
to nothing behind our feet, faceing forward together
no road to the past left to step back on

we kept to the path side by side
as the colors of time, moved around us
and still your hand warmed mine
picking the grapes of life, and
feeding eachother its sweetness

as the world aged so did we
our skin had the look of many
roads taken, but our eyes still
had fires in them, igniting glances

time had finally wisperd in our ears
and we tired, our journey across life
found no more new turns, and i felt
that warm hand slip from mine and
he sat down on the path and sighed
he looked up into my eyes and brought
up his hand yet again and asked if i trusted
him, and i smiled and said " my lover of course
i trust you, just as my young hand took yours
so will my old" and i sat next to him
as both the past, and the future, crumbled















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Halloween is Right around the corner.. .







 
Replies:      
Date: 6/4/2002 8:18:00 AM  From Authorid: 42703    aw,wonderful as ever poem.  
Date: 6/4/2002 8:18:00 AM  From Authorid: 28363    Alice In Chains this is great, I thought maybe you retired,
thanks for sharing on usm.
  
Date: 6/7/2002 3:36:00 PM  From Authorid: 21435    Immortal...and yet, mortal. Alicenchains, this work was excellant. Thank you for the fine read. Write on....  
Date: 6/8/2002 7:52:00 PM  From Authorid: 39179    smooth and warm ... but is the inside the same?
  
Date: 6/12/2002 3:05:00 PM  From Authorid: 16131    The fragile mortality of love and hate are so dispicable in a way . Yet the saddness overwhelms the hate everlastingly , does it not ???? It is a superstition to beleive that things of such a tender nature that is only committed to by one but not another . If anything at all , it is a vague memory that I still hold precious enough to keep but , contemptable to hate what it helped me to become but glad for what and , who I am .... Your writing always cuts me deep but they scars they open radiant a sweetness I beleived to be lost .... Thankyou ....  

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