Sleeping At Last Emphasis
Death is promised to the bee who's sting protects the
colony.
Was it's life worth nothing more than honey for the
queen?
Life is a branch and it is a dove, handcrafted by
confusing love.
Sign language is our reply, when church bells make no
sound.
In hollow towers and empty hives, we craved sweetness
with a fear of heights.
Was it all just a grain of sand in and hourglass?
The smartest thing i've ever learned is that i don't
have all the answers,
just a little light to call my own.
Though it pales in comparison to the overarching
shadows,
a speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow
darkness whole.
Death is a cold, blindfolded kiss.
It is the finger pressed upon our lips.
It puts an unwanted emphasis on how we should have
lived.
Life is a gorgeous, broken gift.
Six billion pieces waiting to be fixed.
Love letters that were never signed, sent to where we
live.
But the sweetest thing i've ever heard is that i don't
have to have the answers,
just a little light to call my own.
Though it pales in comparison to the overarching
shadows,
a speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow
darkness whole.
