Colour
Over hills and streams
The eyes, the sun
They move in weaves
And smiles, flowers
half unfurled
Shy
Against the background of the world
Softly
Slowly
Blaze and burn,
Simmer through the cycles
Turn.
til all is naught.
Lost
but barely fought.
Sharp
The edges,
ashes, pain.
Shadows
twist and tear a name.
Comments
Kerryn 7 November 2007 at 10:11 p.m.
I hope that's going in your NaNoWriMo novel!!
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