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A vanta black with specks of white.
The darkest night, embedded light.
The finest flicks, raised painted grain.
Diagonal lines, depicting rain.

The only colour of sodium light,
all placed on sticks and stood upright.
They line the street and evenly placed.
The coldest night, a bitter taste.

Upon the path, a man and dog.
Both brisk in pace and breath of fog.
Icicles drip from frozen eaves.
Returning home, both kicking leaves.

Kaydee.
Winter pallette
Sara Kellie Apr 26
Ashes to ashes
dust to . . .
Sorry,
I didn't hear you scratching
but
I did hear your voice.

I looked into your eyes.
Nothing.
I tried your pulse.
Nothing.
There was no heartbeat.
Nothing,
but I did hear your voice.

I love you too.
Rest in peace.

Poetry by Kaydee.
After the love has gone
Sara Kellie Feb 29
I still believe my eyes.
All I see
is my blindness.
I still believe my ears.
All I hear
are lies.
Yet I still quell the urge to fly.
And if you'd achieved,
after all you believed.
I'd be dead.
Sara Kellie Oct 2019
Her saturate beauty
in violet black light.
The narcotic consent
some Saturday night.
Colours are bleeding
a vivid dream night.
Lysergic Acid Diethylamide,
Right?

A sleep pattern paisley
purple and green.
Faceless adversaries
heard, yet unseen.
A motionless panic,
unable to run.
Contorted, curled fingers,
now, isn't this fun.
The ups and downs of an
LSD ******.
Sara Kellie Sep 2019
A flower lady stands guard at the overgrown garden of broken stone teeth.
  Where a million flakes of silver and white covers neatly laid out boxes of bones.
  Small, separated audiences quietly chatting to themselves, unaware that no one can hear.
  Where their cold grey words drip from frozen blue lips on a falling mist of old sorrow.
  The trees once in full bloom appear dead, reflecting all life around.
  Where the butterflies and ladybirds used to play, just as the bones in the boxes did yesterday.
Those in attendance file out one by one. They peer left and then right, realising the flower lady has gone.
And it's on their way home as the time ticks on by, the realisation that
one day,
they too,
must die.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Notes of Mortality.
Sara Kellie Aug 2019
Take a pop,
Sling a shot,
Marble in a hole.
These are games
we used to play.
All strikers
scoring goals.

Now we're all
just goalkeepers
trying to save it all.
Hold on to things
we never had
without dropping
the ball.

Poetry by Kaydee.
How it goes
Sara Kellie Aug 2019
Upon finding
I am burdened
with this
glorious purpose
came the stark
realisation
that I must
one day
triumph or fail
and with that,
I awoke.

Kaydee.
It was only a dream.
A dream about life.
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