Poetry

Twenty-Five Lines

Photo by Zdeněk Macháček on Unsplash

She sings to you at evening
Of the secrets of the universe,
And you feel the cosmic tides inside you
Pulling at your soul.
Her eyes are made of starlight.
You feel them look right through you,
To shine the light of feeling
In the temple of cold reason.
You can’t hear the words she’s speaking,
But your energy receives them,
And you feel your fingers tremble
While the lines come tumbling out.
Your souls were joined…