A shrinking forest rich with towers, corridors, turrets.
Man-made manacles,
Crest-fallen and blind to the world. Marble pillars
Inhale their grandeur like scent,
Writhing beneath our feet,
Under our hands
With stone legs
snarled in braids like tombstone ruins. Laid with the first bricks.
This was lunging out at me
From an ochre dream. And on Waking
Technicolour effigies, bald-eyed trees in spring
simper thanks for this patch in an anxious heaven.












Devious Comments
Very good, very good..
--
Member of ~ThePortraitClub and =DeviantDolls
--
"If the English language made any sense, a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur."
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