Monday, November 10, 2014

Mud of soul

186

Owl did sit in silence,
rose the shine of night,
birds in chorus fervour;
thread of inner sight.

Crossroads of the psyche,
mud of Self crushed deep,
thorns of grief revealing;
called to darkest sleep.

Crocus pushed damp bud,
struggled to be born,
life did end in suicide;
Soul at last was torn.

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/11/09/wordle-186/


 

8 comments:

  1. This flows beautifully, right to the sad end.

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  2. As Viv says, beautiful flow of words and sentiment.

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  3. The darkest sleep indeed....but maybe there is still hope for the soul

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  4. Beautifully written even though it ends in sadness.

    Elizabeth

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  5. Well done; smoothed rhyme and crafted message - terse, tight and worked right.
    Took you some time, ay? Randy

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    1. Thanks, I have to admit that my poems speak for themselves and simply flow quickly. I might change a word or two on re-reading but that is it.

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  6. Beautifully written and sounds nice when read aloud.

    Pamela

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