Sep 2016
I fell in love with her.
She has a soul as black
As death on a sabbath morning.
Her eyes are deeply set in the astral-plane that is her facade.
She is the captor of the attentions of many.
She is not without agenda.
Neither is she not without heartache,
For the sun that shines the brightest is always the first one to burn itself out.
Tawny windblown streaks are waving in the lavander twilight, as her arms would move to hold the sky.
She draws me closer to her.
I alone can see inside her,
And her secrets, I help hide.
It does not matter
That she does not love me.
She has a soul as black
As death on a sabbath morning.
Her eyes are deeply set in the astral-plane that is her facade.
She is the captor of the attentions of many.
She is not without agenda.
Neither is she not without heartache,
For the sun that shines the brightest is always the first one to burn itself out.
Tawny windblown streaks are waving in the lavander twilight, as her arms would move to hold the sky.
She draws me closer to her.
I alone can see inside her,
And her secrets, I help hide.
It does not matter
That she does not love me.
(more exercises in poetry to increase range of vocabulary and writing style...some people flex muscles...I gotta work with what I got! This one is romantic...kinda...not really. I think I'm writing some of these to help develope attributes for characters in my book, also- but the finished work is never as it starts. I don't yet know who all these people I'm writing about will become. But, I know they are not inherently victoms. They are strong, if they are not virtuous.)
