Pages of owls, half faded in nightshade
And a mountain obscured by clouds.
The people all walk without faces and talk without mouths
In a world without sound.
She sits behind doors in a small, weathered house
In an old photograph of a town,
And she smiles by the sink as she sips angry drinks
But the drinks spoil her face to a frown.
The walls don't throb or whine anymore
Since the spirits have all gone to town,
Which leaves her alone in the corpse of a home
Like a prison cell built for a clown.
Author notes
I tend to write things like this
What kind of scene and/or feelings does this illustrate for you?
Comments
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Excellent
The wit and sadness explained are just wonderful. The rhyme right on and the young poets future aligned with the stars it seems. Again just excellent.
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What a stark and creepy aura you have created with your well chosen words. There seems to be more than one train of thought flowing here. I think you could take any one stanza and run away with it and create a whole new poem. Interesting concept here. Welcome to Allpoetry! I hope you enjoy your time here. Should you need any help, feel free to contact any greeter or moderator that you see online.
♥ Touchof1der
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