Friday, November 30, 2007

Reaping is Done


















My madam picks her silver spoon, and measures out a soupçon of dust. And my madam tears the checkerboard asunder, then crawls under and sleeps in a field of rye. So my madam makes a pillow of the spade, and takes the willow for shade to dream a dream of flying away.

But madam, will you say goodbye, wont you let me sing a lullaby and kiss the lonely gaze. Oh, but she has demons to fight and she cant hear me seranade and while she raises her hell tonight, I pick up my hat and leave the masquerade.

Now as I walk down the primrose path of my making, and although that heart is surely breaking, I think I shall soon forget.



And she says
The reaping is done
And knots come undone
Someone tell me if
It is morning yet...

4 comments:

Noisy Autist said...

you play a breathtaking game with the language.

Blabberwocky said...

someone is overflowing these days with bursts of creative energy & her readers are loving every single spark that brightens their dark days & dark minds...
[just trying to make the comment poetic enough to do justice to the last 3 posts. =)]

Blabberwocky said...

but failing miserably 'coz they are just too beautiful to say anything at all. I stand here & admire in silence...

misa said...

@ Shan- thanks

@Poulami-

But your words are mine when I behold
All the beauty your words unfold....