As swallows in the autumn fly
Held tight in grasp of circumstance
Suspicion wore an old patched coat
And as the wings of summer drooped
His anger leapt with none to wrestle
Her presence wasn’t felt
Blindly fighting presaged impulse
Troubles ploughed yet furrow trapped
As chalk that moves on slate defines
His heart in black beat out a pulse
The chords no longer played a tune.
Time wove its painful tapestries
For them the cradle never rocked
The hour came when nonel fulfilled
As flowers plucked too soon
No answers written on her face
And in the silent flowing water
Floating to eternity
She heard the drip of tears
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Author:
Michael Edwards (
Offline) - Published: July 16th, 2017 00:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Beginning to take shape - I can see some lines are dangling and will be removed as part of the distillation process and I have a couple of new lines in mind which I might incorporate - will finish it off and post result tomorrow if I am happy with it. Hope you like the progression thus far.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 48
Offline)
Comments5
I can see the areas that were changed clearly. Well done. Looking forward to the final version. I might add, that watching this process is very educational. I thank you profusely for going through the trouble.
So pleased you find it of interest - thanks for commenting.
Ooohh it's good enough now, in my view. heehee. I didn't mean: 'Oh that'll do, any old stuff!' though.
Still working on it - a couple of lines are giving ,e a bit of trouble but I'll get there - trouble is I'm not sure where.
I like both but need to admit that this one is susceptible better. Will wait for the final. Thanks
I love those paints. Very beautiful.
Thanks so much - it's a village not far from mine.
Did you paint it? I wish I could learn from you.
2 more comments
Thanks so much Michael, for letting us follow your creative process.
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