A rusty wind blows graveyard-thoughts on a windmill;
they are just sublimations of the inappropriate,
songs of the unholy; some desert-flowers between my teeth,
withering with cross-over syllables.
I play with pieces of Summer, carefully dismayed
from their innocence, bathing in Autumn's blood.
My dreams are half-eclipse now, a weeping river
of lost securities, its rawness a naked galaxy.
Limps made of liquorice, they carry the fruits
of yellowed pages, aged tears etched in stones,
in the afternoon light:
softly spoken words distil into wounds of learning.
Author notes
Prompt: Dark goldenrod
A contest entry
- Click 67. by perfectsunset.
625 points, ended November 19, 28 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Wow; I lOVE where you
guided this prompt..
to a place of a million
meanings and thoughs.
Beautifully scribed imagery
and metaphor!
Best of luck & thanks for entering
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Wow..............
Oh wow and wow
This is totally awesome and amazing
Such an array of words that came from your poem
in sheer brilliance
A goldenrod of gold is my wish for you
Best wishes and good luck
Julie
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ah, thanks Julie...had a hard time with this colour. A flower
lol
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