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Untitled…
By Tonya Jone Miller | September 26, 2008
in the soft silence
of the broken hour
i sink
into the hollow of your neck
and your breath
etches riddles on my skin
Topics: My Life | 1 Comment »
« Quality & Original! | Home | Search Me »
By Tonya Jone Miller | September 26, 2008
in the soft silence
of the broken hour
i sink
into the hollow of your neck
and your breath
etches riddles on my skin
Topics: My Life | 1 Comment »
September 27th, 2008 at 12:46 pm
I do not have the words nor the skill to create them. Others have that skill…others know the Muses. I must borrow from them…
THERE be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean’s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o’er the deep,
Whose breast is gently heaving
As an infant’s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of summer’s ocean.
by George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron