Your skin like the yellow brick road,
and what is it that creates that rush of blush?
Iād love to shovel out your flesh or drill through your cheeks
to reach those autumn leaves,
that grow behind the golden weeds,
the red leaves that were never green.
No, never new, they never grew,
they stayed and they remained:
Dying, but never dead,
thriving, behind your face of golden thread.
beauty ā unique ā love ā violence ā autumn ā colour ā metaphor ā imagery
Your rhyming sequences in this piece are very effective Alexandra. One of your briefest offerings too, meaning every word is important and will be scrutinised.
It feels tightly written like a small parcel. I rather like it!
If you wish to post a comment you must login.
This site uses only functional cookies that are essential to the operation of the site. We do not use cookies related to advertising or tracking. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Alexandra Parapadakis
Tue 16th May 2017 13:29
Thank you Graham!