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Getting Rid

Soft touch on the neck,
Of crests and troughs
Oscillation my moods,

Fragranced by tulips
Capturing the seaside breeze
Drizzling rain slipping
Through slits in between,

Clasped when perturbed
Scratched when raw
Gathered when wished,

Caressed when you love
Disheveled in mischief
Touch of your soft hands
Hanging as one among,

Destined till this day
Yet blessed to grow again
Like the climatic seasons
You shall come back,

Scissors getting rid of you
A layer after another
Cutting and clipping
Soon my locks would be gone.

A contest entry

Please tell me what you think

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Comments


  • zillion
    June 9, 2007

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    Very interesting. I really liked how at the end, you weren't getting rid of something big, but something simplistic, but meaningful. That was the point to this contest, so I comend you on pulling that off well.