WL Schuett


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 Offline)
  • Published: January 1st, 2018 10:43
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 76
  • User favorite of this poem: myself and me.


  • Shadowbox15

    Beautiful imagery

  • Michael Edwards

    Fine write Bill and a great picture.

  • Christina8

    A great poem and picture! I loved the last lines, "the heart she hadn''t wanted to give away, softly broke." Wonderful!!

  • FredPeyer

    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?

  • Goldfinch60

    Wonderful write WL and the painting is superb.

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