Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  May 2015 Jason Cole
beth fwoah dream
clouds of lilac blossom
thick in the blue air.

day unwraps in slow
whispers and the wind
is more lonely than am i.

the sky is a broken
vase, little
pathways of the sun,
her strange loads,
her happy voice.

the lilacs were our love song
may swept into our hair and eyes
little pieces of me scattering
like breaking waves.

dipped in the magical ink
of flowers
the garden cries
for its wilderness
its withering of sky
its blossoming of twig
until you can’t see the sky
and it becomes softly an impression,
a fine mist of golds.

no song now,
only the death of the
wind and a new road
that winds from the silver distances
of the moon.

only a harbour where i
rest for a while, a little
boat bobbing where the waves lap,
waiting for you...
I see her in hooded head
Walking by in the night
The dusked shadows dewy in thought

Rumors fill my inquirious desires
As she transcends the vacuous light
Dare not I to ask where you go

She fills me full of fright

But alluring to me like catalepsy
Mewing the cats-eye of my discontent
Then around upon the angled corner

My phantasmagoria bent
Next page