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: Pixabay

Form: Chained Rhyme

Posted on Sunday Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads

& Posted on the ‘Poetry Pantry’ @ Poets United