Dawn spreading gentle fingers,
Tickling trees slathered with the colors
Of Autumnal flesh.
The tone of the hair
On a Rust-Curl girl.
The same hue of steel
Being hammered into formed function.
The color of those fireworks
With the second-stage showering sparks.
What has come to me now as
Carnival-glass spheres, reflecting
Distorted images of memories and
Descending slowly into deepening darkness
Like bubbles blown at dusk.
However, I'm trying not to embellish,
So it's simply the titian glory
In a sunset that signals
The loss of another day.
2 comments:
you write really well!!!! :)
and your poems are very touching....
keep up the good work..!
Anindita.
http://anisaround2911.blogspot.com/
Post a Comment