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mxvnvPoems
Screaming goes the midday sun As voices move and footsteps chatter Words of promise and love and romance rise Onto the forest green of the world Never did her skin match the surface of her crimson heart Never did her eyes shine nor blind the people of her choosing Never did her face seem to catch the sulken view of suitors Nor did her voice capture the attention of the world The world denied her and she denied the world Yet her feet painted colours of their very own Making a masterpiece A collision A line-by-line pattern of golden streaks of colours That kept at their place Kept where she stood Aligned perfectly with the rise of the sun and the fall of the moon According to the ones who saw According to the ones who knew And according to the ones who left Misinterpretation never dignifies the righteousness of a canvas Nor does it eliminate the mere reason for it’s purpose A single streak can own much value, While a collection could just be patterns; A child’s word can be easily heard But intertwining it around your mind is much harder. She glazed her ground with the rainbows of her tips Her voice not heard but her creations seen And while an audience of words is not received The birds of heaven don’t forget.
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Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
Her
Screaming goes the midday sun As voices move and footsteps chatter Words of promise and love and romance rise Onto the forest green of the world Never did her skin match the surface of her crimson heart Never did her eyes shine nor blind the people of her choosing Never did her face seem to catch the sulken view of suitors Nor did her voice capture the attention of the world The world denied her and she denied the world Yet her feet painted colours of their very own Making a masterpiece A collision A line-by-line pattern of golden streaks of colours That kept at their place Kept where she stood Aligned perfectly with the rise of the sun and the fall of the moon According to the ones who saw According to the ones who knew And according to the ones who left Misinterpretation never dignifies the righteousness of a canvas Nor does it eliminate the mere reason for it’s purpose A single streak can own much value, While a collection could just be patterns; A child’s word can be easily heard But intertwining it around your mind is much harder. She glazed her ground with the rainbows of her tips Her voice not heard but her creations seen And while an audience of words is not received The birds of heaven don’t forget.
#motherhood#mom#her#she#abuse#birds#art#colors#rainbows
Written by
mxvnv
18/Non-binary/Indiana
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
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