New age awakened, strung pink
in pour from lips as I watched her mouth:
Perspectives of Indigo,
Crystal, and dissections of Rainbow.
My narrow house seemed to increase
while pupils enlarged to hold
such a glorious image
of emotion; of faith flung~out
in hopes of reaching reticent crows
perched in the back row, restless.
I don't remember the friend who suggested;
nor the seat or the walls that encompassed...
But her soul, I can never forget.
It sang forth in colours I've not known since childhood;
it caressed my beliefs, naming them chaos.
And I swelled with visions, with hopes of dawn,
exhaled in strokes of Renaissance
while the distant dreams of self were surpassed~
By a rose that spoke...
Giving sunrise a song ascending
swift past the black wings of those
that would tuck their heads and ignore
a rebirth of radiant sun
and it's silent rays that sing.
Author notes
Prompt: "LIKE THE SUN GOING DOWN ON ME"~ forty lines or less
In a list
A contest entry
- LIKE THE SUN GOING DOWN ON ME by Swan song.
900 points, ended October 31, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
beautiful!!! Those are the only words I have for this poem!
-
A-fucking-mazing! Excuse my language, but I've just read a bunch of writers whose work I think is outstanding and then I come and read this and I am just completely knocked out. If I were to list, line by line, stanza by stanza all the things I like about this, I would exceed the memory capacity for this site! Blue, Blue, Blue... you are a wonderful writer: the descriptions, the use of colors, the emotions, the feelings, the tempo... and that's just the first stanza!
Really though, my favorite part:
'And I swelled with visions, with hopes of dawn,
exhaled in strokes of Renaissance
while the distant dreams of self were surpassed~'
Amazing!
-
salvation sings like the last two verses. Would that I could be a believer who finds reasons for holding to the temple.
This vision of woman hood taking hold as you describe the powerful woman who rises above the hexes of her magic, these crows become no more than thieves. There is a birthing in this poem. A thrusting demand of power being kept for purpose rather than thrown about like a casting for fishes to rise from the lake of knowledge with answers instead of gasping for prayers.
Love,
Tom B.
-
I'm stunned - and they haven't fallen yet - but they are mightily asserting themselves!
So very beautiful - Thank You for Sharing!
ya All~Ways, ~ Jan ~
Adding your comment:
