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Open Poetry #45
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Friend
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Friend |
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ziad Junior Member
since 2009-05-23
Posts 15London, England |
Friend: Her tears phantom the gold chocking her neck. Such a beautiful ruin… what place is left for such ornate jewelry? Water does not flow beneath her skin. The current altered his course and drove her rivers to dust. Fronts became friends and left behind still air. The birds sang requiems to honor their rotting tree and with their lament, bequeathed her a black cloak so that she can mourn. Nothing left, but her black cloak. Black… She wears black under her feet. The rubber path of worn shoes stain the polished floor of this defeated hall. She wears a black over her head, like a hovering raincloud that spits ash and cries smolder. Until red skies become all that is left of her, my friend. |
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| © Copyright 2009 Ziad - All Rights Reserved | |||
suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
like a hovering raincloud that spits ash and cries smolder. What great images! Excellent write... Welcome to Passions! *S* |
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ziad Junior Member
since 2009-05-23
Posts 15London, England |
thank you! i want this to be part of a series, i'm not sure yet... |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
It has definite series potential. You've created an interesting storyline, with some wonderful imagery. I'll be back to read this again later. |
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