Scorched

Warm sun splashes,
tossing dust motes;
sound is a distant echo
as heat absorbs
sending lazy days
and spirals of thought,
vapour trails to meander.
The waters remain
untroubled and she
doesn't nee rainbow fish
to muddle in her pallet
just endless possibilities
of a free mind.
Spirit is not taxed
it merges with
scorched stone,
hues of memory
floating, benignly smiling.
It is a warm day,
with promises of more;
the rich ripe smell
of a redolent mind.
Here where the clematis wind
and the passion flower
stays forever open.





Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 469 times
Written on 2009-03-24 at 10:42

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