She listened as
the silence filled her being .
She knew the flowers were broken
as was the stillness in the woods .
A hawkshire moon ,
the malice of starlight.
Brittle with frost ,
adrift,
tribeless
in the naked night of dreams .
Her lava flowed
in an unrelenting quiet fire
of silence .
She needed a resurrection
as her storm broke ,
volcanic .
With a simple but deadly logic
she hung on the moon .
A raining heart plucked
from a midnite storm of wrath .
As the stream rushed darkly
beneath a meadow of virgin white
The eastern sky started to glow ,
a whisper in the air ,
a softening light .
Troubadors abound
and sing her sad song .
Her soft whisper was first
felt on the far coast of midnite.
A wounded soul ,
highly wrought with pain .
An owl flew low and hid
by the lonely crippled creek .
Over the quivering lips of dawn
a bitter seed erupts .
Like the fallen bliss
of an ancient creed .
Epic silence .
Except for the crunch
as she steps to the grass .
-
Author:
WL (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 22nd, 2018 22:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 62
Offline)
Comments3
Some great lines in this super work Bill - love the painting.
Very good write WL, may the light of the moon bring her peace and happiness.
Superb artwork.
Why the eyes, used to be sharp and shrewd, filled with melancholy.
Distance, the far distance, the eyes are on,
What is she searching for
What is she waiting for
on this cold silent night
on this snow covered branch
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