Evil in his skin, crying until her tears
long, exhausted heart, mourning, resolved
to lay down the dreams in chocked desires,
to sense pinching of grayish silent thorns.
Depressed, she saw as the desert island
exists on any map, fading without truce,
forgotten, discouraged life she suffered
her soft little bruised soul to become ice.
Rough, it felt like a tree dolent un-barked,
unprotected to resist these evils insolent,
to uproot, in seeking lockable bubbly griefs,
exiled in a world of silence with reluctance.
Author notes
~spiritualangel~
Prompt: 4. I can't dream any longer when reality has so many thorns.
A contest entry
- PIF PROMPT CONTEST. by penman.
900 points, ended October 21, 2008, 9 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Wonderful
Very well done. Best of luck in the contest.
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sad but penned beautifully true to your name, hank you for sharing
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