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| Subject: Indigo Ink, for Andy | |
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Author: Jess (Shades of Sepia Award - Awarded by Christine) |
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Date Posted: 03:43:44 12/05/07 Wed  Andy, I saw your post on good and bad poetry, and I thought I'd try my hand at utilizing some tired cliches, for fun. ;) Yep, it makes for a bad poem! Some days the imp gets me. :D I even put it in paragraph form, and, oddly enough, maybe it should be a story.... Deep in the stark coldness of 3am, when the indigo ink has deepend to it’s blackest and spread across the jewel-lit sky, we sit, focused up, wishing on the sparks that blaze across the velvet. Silent. You’re not close enough to warm me, and the silence freezes me further. A dozen Leonid diamonds I count falling to the earth, and I wish a dozen times to hear you speak, to turn to me and let me see a glimmer of love in the depths of your eyes, but my wishes go unheeded and unfulfilled. Rosy-fingered Dawn wakes up and the snow-muffled silence only deepens. I wonder what you were wishing for, but I suspect it wasn’t for me. My bleeding heart is spilling my soul in steaming pools of ichor across the snow. . [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |