One dry leaf, wrinkled and brown
Beguiled by a wicked wind
Blown along in blissful haze
To the edge of that golden blaze
To be ravaged by the fire
As the wind whistles on.
.
.
.
speak to the dark angels
Beguiled by a wicked wind
Blown along in blissful haze
To the edge of that golden blaze
To be ravaged by the fire
As the wind whistles on.
.
.
.
speak to the dark angels
posted by Inkblot at Sunday, March 19, 2006
5 Comments:
nice. v nice
and just who is the wrinkled old brown leaf then?
think i'll retire from this site. you girls have me licked. (if you'll pardon the expression!)
Poignant and dark - very dark. A brooding voice that speaks in haunted myths and treacle spun from the midnight.
P: thanks
CJ: 'girls'...? who indeed! Don't expect me to give anything away!
Nick: lovely comment. Treacle sets off a whole new train of thought. Thanks for reading me.
beautiful. I love the idea that the wind has tormented the leaf,would have knocked it from the tree, and brought it where in now rests; and left.
Post a Comment
<< Home