The night seemed to sound only of water
thought her wearied soul and mind,
inclined towards the sky that had darkened
to a faint violet–inviolate as though free
from desecration and blind rage.
Age, she thought was like climbing a summit,
the further we climb the clearer our views get.
Forget the one who hurt you yesterday
because lives fade like a passing shadow.
Espresso and a half-written page peered as a tear blossomed in her eye. Why was her heart bent upon following a ritual where each stretch of the imagination was tortured. Orchard, which had once belonged to my mother was mine-- Dine.
Photo credits: We Heart It
Form: Chained Rhyme
Posted on Sunday Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads
& Posted on the ‘Poetry Pantry’ @ Poets United