Floating between death.
The soft grass beneath my skin.
A stream, golden and glowing, singing sweetly as the breeze brushes against the rippling water.
Weeping willow, why must you weep?
So pure, so young, so beautiful.
Will you fall?
I brush my hand against the silvery bark, the cool sensation bringing chills.
Whispers, sweet music, in the hazy twilight.
Kiss the stars in my eyes, little lamb in the thorn bush.
The air is thick.
The fruit stills the air.
The willow's fruit.
Oh, what the willow's fruit does.
A contest entry
- the weeping willow by adsaige.
350 points, ended February 17, 2008, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
this is very well, i just worry with
the format of the poem that
it just did not flatter your words,
and neither did the background.
the fruit stills the air
the willow's fruit;
oh what the willow's fruit does.
i would suggest formatting and
editing this differently.
thank you for entering and
good luck.
Adding your comment:
