Growing Dark in the Cold
Beneath the dewy grass you seep, Wispy tendrils splayed out as complex Networks of finely-woven threads. Breaking through the earthy tomes Your tempting fruits throb
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Beneath the dewy grass you seep, Wispy tendrils splayed out as complex Networks of finely-woven threads. Breaking through the earthy tomes Your tempting fruits throb
Your barren canvas stretches Tightly across forgotten states; Caught between unforgiving waves And starry mountain peaks, Your pulse beats unhurriedly In this hibernation of solitude.
Hidden behind the fragility Of a sub-Antarctic archipelago, A speck of shamrock shimmers On a sea of turquoise. Exploding into life this fleck Becomes
Breathe in. Your crown of precious hues Glimmers in the setting sun; A steadfast declaration that Your appearance will not be Ordained by the passing
Sailing swiftly along the salted seashore, Your whiteish throat flanks brown streaks That accentuate comedic orange brows. Amongst saline marshes and sunken reeds You build
Your recent absences have become More pronounced; The late spring evenings are no longer Alive with the industry of your approach, And the flowers in
Beneath the shimmering surface of the sea Lie tiny specks of hope, Inconsequential fragments of life That work tirelessly to remove The years of smut
You slide fluently through cool, coastal waters, A balletic grace with unparalleled force That silently slips between the spheres As a distant rumble announces time.
You struggle for breath. And reach towards the sun With yellowed fingertips; Stunted roots Can no longer drink The static water that was Once a
Within the arid heart of shifting sands, A swathe of ancient microbes team with life; When gluts of unseen rainfall drench these lands, They promise