Quillfingertips trace pensive thoughts,
trail a poetic glimpse reminiscent of
gray, fogging spectacles
fail to glimpse the star burning
in the pitch black tarfield.
All is gray, 'til a quillfingertip
brushes the star,
reigniting the memory in another runon,
in a sanguine-electrical-
crown of thorns-runon.
Quill-kissed memories folded and dispatched
all the way to Timbuktu,
never to return again, etching
this in our memory, another runon,
a sanguine-electrical-
crown of thorns-runon.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
-
nice poem it was well writen keep it up
Amber -
I am starting to believe you are a genius that either doesn't know it or won't admit it.
Much of the writings I read on here pale next to your depth of thought--even my own. Sometimes I wonder if these are just musings from the imagination or if they are fragments of emotion and experience fashioned into a literary pearl.
I used to love writing letters (which is what the quill made me think of). These days, so much baggage is hanging off my quill that I can barely be bothered. You have put some words together that create a feeling of hopelessness and forsaken love, something that reverberates deep in my soul.
Something I wish I never had to think about.
Many blessings,
Raven Aurora
-
-
Well if I'm a genius than I don't know it *shrugs*. Thanks so much for the comment!
-
-
Wow this wwwas beautifull twiny!!!
*HUg*
Lov a twiny keep writing!!
God Bless you twiny! -
-
*hugses* I'm glad you liked it! <3 ya, twinny!
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 5 of 5
