A fever of superstition
nipping at a butterfly.
a shared adversary
bounded by secrets .
Her eyes a soft
quiet brown.
A plate spinner
in a vast forest of lies .
The embodiment of the thorn .
The essence of the Rose .
The soft hand of dusk
pulled down the night .
Not recognizing the borders
balanced on a bottle of wine .
Hypnotized by the color
of spectral vibrations.
Her voice was soft and calm .
Knowing that life oscillates
between the adventurous
and the ridiculous .
The heart she
hadn’t wanted to give away ,
softly broke .
-
Author:
WL (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 1st, 2018 10:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 76
- Users favorite of this poem: myself and me
Offline)
Comments5
Beautiful imagery
Fine write Bill and a great picture.
A great poem and picture! I loved the last lines, "the heart she hadn''t wanted to give away, softly broke." Wonderful!!
Wonderful choice of words, great writing, WL!
Love the last stanza. Wondering if the heart broke BECAUSE she did not want to give it away? Would it still be whole if given away?
Wonderful write WL and the painting is superb.
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