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/
This flows beautifully, right to the sad end.
ReplyDeleteAs Viv says, beautiful flow of words and sentiment.
ReplyDeleteThe darkest sleep indeed....but maybe there is still hope for the soul
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written even though it ends in sadness.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
torn from old to be reborn
ReplyDeleteWell done; smoothed rhyme and crafted message - terse, tight and worked right.
ReplyDeleteTook you some time, ay? Randy
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.
DeleteBeautifully written and sounds nice when read aloud.
ReplyDeletePamela