The icicles
Shone across a molten cyan skyline..
Winter trickling down..
The chords of March.
Slivers of muted butterflies
Resembling a mild panacea,
Of an estranged pause..
Yielded;
To a sketched vignette..
Atop the old yellow leaflet;
Clasped within her eyes.
Nostalgia sprung on high notes..
Winding down mosaic warmth;
Rushing along a feverish brook..
And scented dale;
His song strummed the dusky fog..
Smothered in torrid snow flakes.
This one's for Lorenzo... wrote for him after a long time..
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Hello Rye,
'Winter trickling down...
The chords of March.'
Lines which just seem to drag me out of my mind...
I just can't stop myself complementing you on your style which is truly enigmatic...
Your metaphors and imageries too are excellent...
Please do check out my new poem 'Mistress of The Sapphire Moon' on my blog and leave your comments...
I would be eagerly waiting for your precious comments...
Wishing you good luck!!!
Sourik
Picturesque and moving...as always.what I liked was the flowing rhythm in the first and third stanza and the static imagery of the second stanza.....is this time suspended in between movement?Your imageries here move, then stop and then trickle along unwillingly.What's left behind is the frozen nostalgia in the second stanza.
Hope u r doing fine.My exams have gotten over.Got heaps to tell....yet I'm waiting for your PC to be functional again.Do write in to me soon after that and I'll get back to you.
Is ur Pc still not ok?N pls chk out my new poem.....
Post a Comment