Not Wholly Wrong
I see my sadness as something reflected,the quicksilver flash in a stream,
that dances over stones and then skips
into a rainbow which quite perplexes
and the scent of freshly mown grass
which sends senses reeling.
No life is not on an even keel
and I feel the quickening ever more,
deep, deep inside, oh so deep,
a left over bottle from a vintage brew
left on the shelves its sweetness
turning acid and burning a hole.
I am the mist in the morning, the fog
on a commute home, the acrid bonfire
smoke that permeates and fills the
cotton fibres that you can never rid
as hiding behind smiles and cheeky grins,
life isn't quite spinning as it should,
my sadness is a reflection on an inner inspection
of all that isn't right but isn't wholly wrong.
Poetry by Elle
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Editors' choice
Written on 2013-11-09 at 19:18
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by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
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