“if people destroy something made by man they are called vandals. if they destroy something made by GOD they are called developers”
looking for a rose within the death
tree- quelling sick absence, fallen hues
of light, soft recoil of thorn, repressed,
burning fractal, knocked sedate, defray
blessed tongues flirting within her
sublunary passion, celestial torture,
croaking slit through the flutter- hard
and nigh, thoracic night, stolen glimmer
pierced, abounding- lurking in and
out, slanted, for the cusp of pink play-
nervous clouded, His chiaroscuro,
black-and-red featured smutting
and as the world twirls her, fresh,
in cold lullaby whispers- her doll
dream comes wither, for sinned pipe-like
display- and He fills her scent with
slapped grooming- as He dies for
her, haemorrhagic glints- pleading
grate for woven art, silken prattle
Chilled air breaches my lungs.
The ground’s dead leaves lie under the frost.
Raindrops freeze before falling to the earth,
The frozen tears of the sky,
Each a unique and irreplaceable gem.
Strong cold winds make branches begin to shiver.
Old tattered gloves lay in the snow, discarded.
The divine moonlight reflects on each pristine snowflakes.
A Winter Solstice light show.
The cold turns my breath into frosty clouds.
My ears slip into numbness.
My lips begin to quiver.
I didn’t care,
The night was so peaceful.
Snowflakes danced down to the earth,
Twirling to show of their unique patterns.
Trying desperately to be remembered,
Before melting away.
I will remember you.
The dazzling confetti from the sky.
Frosted tears of a higher being.
Jack Frost’s own miraculous dancers.
Twirling, Falling, Gliding, Spinning.
It’s the dance of the Winter Solstice.
Your first and longest performance of the year.
And it’s your time to shine.
The winter sky will be your stage.
People, animals and trees your audience.
So, go on.
Dyllan Brown – Bramble
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