segunda-feira, 3 de fevereiro de 2014

Fallen





Those hands,
In which the pale moonlight
 Has drew sublimely 
Each trace of your face 

That touch, in which 
the soft wind whispers
 Have given their grace
Blow love closer and pull it back away.

How am I supposed to stay
In the face of danger
In the fire inviting me to play ?
How is it such a heavenly way to hurt
Where the pain is tender 
And the tears shed cry only your name ?
The bird has fallen on his wings
The lion runs to catch
The power left in this unbreakable strings
The wolf hides in the shadows

This love always brings.

        


                              





Sarah Moustafa 

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