He stood flabbergasted in the open entryway,
darkening a threshold he never again thought he’d cross,
frantically searching the room with as yet adjusted eyes
Backlit by dusk before it drew its curtain closed,
silhouettes of deadheaded roses were strewn upon the table,
casting long, hateful shadows of short, loving memories
The censorious scissors lay haphazardly on the hardwood,
glistening with maddened haste and violent torment,
while diaphanous dust danced on the moonbeam stage above
In a room thick with all the answers to absent, burning questions,
she was the biggest question of all, missing amidst mayhem;
save her tumultuous trail of breadcrumbs escaping between his feet
art: Wondering about the shift by Jeanne Bessette
*06.01.18.11.36
Your words and everything is fire.
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You’re always far too kind, but making believe it’s true makes me a bit happier, thank you
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🌸❤️
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Your poetry is so captivating that I couldn’t help myself from following your blog right away.
I am new to blogging and I’d really appreciate if you could take out some of your precious time to check out my blog and give some constructive feedback or suggestions…
https://fictivefinesseff.wordpress.com
I’ve written only two poems and a piece of fiction by far but it’d great if you could take a look at my work.
Happy reading! 🙂
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You seem to be doing better than i did
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I don’t think that is true but thank you all the same. And thank you for passing by my site. It means a lot to me!
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Gorgeous!
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Thank you (:
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Welcome 😊
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Brilliant !
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Thank you (:
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Pleasure.
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