The sky falls neatly on the sand.
With arms outstretched they beg
to never leave again.
Yet in the cold she knows the way.
Her pentagram love deepens
and grows damper by the day.
Then came the wind to part the grey.
A ray of crimson shines
upon her pretty, withered frame.
By morn she'd have gone
to flee the day-time's scorn,
when silver burns the tongues
of those with intentions, ill born.
Still the days slip away
as I long for Sommer's pain;
though it's the Summer sun I love,
she'll only kiss me in the rain.
I read your poem Red and wanted to comment but honestly, my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth as I watched the horrors of these bush fires unfold and now...so much rain has come and caused even more havoc... these people have seen rock bottom and then some and you have highlighted their plight once more...I would have nominated this given the chance but...hey just glad to give it a shout out if you're happy with that :)
Thank you Hellon, that really means a lot. It's amazing the two extremes we've had, isn't it? More than happy with a shout out, but hey, it would be disrespectful of me to not allow nominations from those who enjoy my posts. Fair game & well played to those who manage to sneak a nomination in. I'll consider it an even bigger compliment! :)