To every moment your breath begins; <br />the failing daylights last disgrace <br />upon opening, finds your needle spins <br />Your everlasting, rich embrace; <br />finds, after long years, <br />your love alone, an empty space <br />Spinning wildly over woven tears; <br />your own imagined empty sky <br />to nettle against your fingers fears, <br />And casts your sinking sun to cry <br />your waters openly before your sleep <br />endures, and spreads what wings will fly <br />Over the highest mountains steep <br />incline, over ice and stone, <br />over love and hate and rivers running deep; <br />Rivers running over blood and bone <br />hold, beside your dreams escape, <br />your smallest hour, your softest moan <br />That, in you, grows; of color form and shape, <br />becoming more and more and more, <br />until, in your final moments lurid drape, <br />Your heart escapes to that far off, golden shore; <br />the golden horns sound silently; <br /> <br />© S.E.S<br /><br />Sara Stowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/golden-shores/
