spider lights burned
in the attic of my mind,
when splitting boxes
kissed the floorboards
among the withering moths.
It is now almost Autumn
and it will still be months
before I shake the powder
and smooth brown lips
to rip and rewound
the events of May.
Your writing is always so beautiful. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI love the mood of this poem, darling. It looks like it should be written in blood on a dusty parchment and nailed to the heavy front door of a spooky eerie..
ReplyDeleteGreat lines. This poem works as a unit, each line integral with every other, with a compelling sound and rhythm. Here's a tiny suggestion, a possibility of cutting four extra words, retaining and strengthening every word that is essential. As the author, you are the one who will know for sure if this works for you:
ReplyDeleteIt was morning when
spider lights burned
in the attic of my mind,
when splitting boxes
kissed the floorboards
among withering moths.
Now almost Autumn,
it will still be months
before I shake the powder
and smooth brown lips
to rip and rewound
the events of May.
If you like that change, you may need a one syllable adjective (or sounds like one syllable) before the word "boxes" to aid the rhythm.
ReplyDeleteMadison, I love this poem, just as it is, without any changes! But, for me, "playing" with words is part of the pleasure of writing, so I hope you don't mind my suggestions. It's always the author who knows what best fits their intent, so please ignore them, if it's not right for your poem.
This is beautiful, I really enjoyed reading it!
ReplyDeleteBeautifully evocative writing, and a stunning photograph to illustrate it...
ReplyDeleteLynette
melancholy like i poems to be, written with
ReplyDeletea tender hand.