The Last Nine.

I wrote this on a winter night,
I wrote this when the air felt light.
Frost scrawls calligraphic writings,
the exteriors untold.
Secrets hidden behind curtains,
making it through this year has its worth of weight in gold.
If we follow those rich amber lights,
It could only bound us to our tender nights.
This passing is a keepsake and the future acts hefty.
Yet, let’s go steady my friend, tread lightly.
If we hold fast we can stop this world from slipping from under our feet,
I could overdose on this more optimistic me.
It’s a euphoric rhythm, strangely an hypnotic beat,
but before the day awakes we must
sleep,sleep,sleep.


© Thelma Von Salem @ https://thelmavonsalem.com

Image – Pinterest

 

 

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