She sits, still as the bone bleached
porch she rests on. Waiting? Watching?
Silvered hair, sanguine eyes,
moon-white skin, and lips, tinted a hue of ice.
Listlessly her arm lifts, sweeping less hair from her eyes than intended.
Paint peels above, humid air clings around, and lies lay beneath her, sleeping soundly.
Listlessly her arm lifts, sweeping less hair from her eyes than intended.
Paint peels above, humid air clings around, and lies lay beneath her, sleeping soundly.
The golden grass wraps the house as
cloak of dry death.
The foundation of stones was rolled
from their homes in the dark, cool earth.
The windows are shadows of frozen souls, blisteringly black.
The windows are shadows of frozen souls, blisteringly black.
She sits as I watch her silently, from the stolen home of the stones.
Wow... This is so intriguing.. Well written.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant descriptions here.
ReplyDeleteI was just about to write what Nicole said. I can honestly imagine the woman in great detail because of the way this is written. Super good!
ReplyDeletewoa.
ReplyDelete"The windows are shadows of frozen souls, blisteringly black."
everything about this is so good.
excellent composition.
ReplyDelete