Tuesday, 28 July 2015


WHISPER


The waif whispered.

Her words slid to
the ground like
metal chains;
yet, it was a
soundless deluge, 
a firm yet friable
force, as though
an iron butterfly
had flitted
in and out 
of the room.
Such an impression
remained
of her being
weighted down,
as when
'light' and 'sprightly' 
were uttered 
by thunder,
as a rough
charcoal sketch
of an Angel. 
Little lotus feet
in ebony clogs
fluttered,
as doves in
pewter cages.
A soot grey kite
tried in vain
to catch the wind
with a string
of words.
An ashen grave
of a life
unspoken,
a graveyard
of phrases,
at last
forsook
her dark refuge,
releasing a
whispered,
barely breathing

"I'm sorry".


© 2015 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum


Image: MADELEINE
Source: www.liveinternet.ru
Artist: Arthur Hughes

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