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Dark Poetry #4

JenniferMaxwell

Member Elite

since 2006-09-14

Posts 2423

0 posted 2007-08-21 07:30 AM

Stitched to skin it never leaves
but hides in pores and hollows deep
in microscopic filaments too fine
to be perceived until they merge
to screen old bruises in the heart
and fill the throat with silent screams.

It comes on fog and changing tides,
rides the wind on moonless nights,
rusts with summer’s fading colors,
but winter is its golden hour.

(Ran out of time - more later)

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