Thus Wrote Abraham

Bells chiming from a distance,
birds chirping a wistful longing,
the seat of our hearts awaiting.

Our footsteps had no direction,
yet your gentle voice was guiding.

A garden of rich greens,
of germinating hopes and lucid glances.
Our shadows whispered delicately,
a colloquy with no invitation,
tellings of incipient sensation,
enigmas drifting in the wind.

Beaming sunlight warmed the deepest within flesh,
instilled in us a mirage of eternal vision.

You spoke of bees and bugs,
of comely petals and rosy landscapes,
perennial gusts of comfort,
embellishing our vanishing haven.

Winnowing sways of encouraging arms,
erosion etched fate in the crevices of our tracks.

Enraptured by extant bliss,
we gracefully walked until our footsteps found us,
and we said one day we would return.