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Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Lines

Contemplating the hue
of poppy, slim fingers
fidget with shadow hair.
A crescent moon above
illuminates the wind's
writing on the wall,
as it smolders
in silent words on
a simple dress.
Beyond the realm
of thought, a
plastic heart melts
from the flames
of coherence,
their fumes orientate
dry tears.
Eight panes
across eight lanes;
the lines drawn
to be crossed.


ambersun said...

Very pretty - I like the moon sort of reflecting onto a dress - original.


Every Photo Tells A Story said...

I'm so bad at commenting about poetry, Sarah-Paige. That's why it's easier for me to show you the words/lines/stanza that stand out to me the most. (Not saying I don't enjoy the entire poem.) If not, then I would sit here all day trying to figure out what to write. Ironic that my blog is what it is:) So, without further ado:

"Eight panes
across eight lanes;
the lines drawn
to be crossed."