Bound

Just one of these things.

When skies turn grey, horizon’s shrouded

Compass bearing wayward, lost

I find my comfort wrapped in you

and threads that bind, knit tight.

Drawing  close such warmth I find

life’s colours woven through this cloth

though mended, frayed, it’s patched with love

and never out of reach.

This love, this life, our ever more

through storms that roar and rage,

my shelter until morning comes

and sun shines on my face.

Author: Michael

Husband, dad,(ex)programmer, comic collector and proud Yorkshireman. I have no idea why im here or why im writing but i rather enjoy it. no great fan of punctuation;

7 thoughts on “Bound”

  2. Pingback: Bound — Afterwards | Penny Wilson Writes

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