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CastlesInTheSky wrote:
The colours run into each other
Stains of paint and orange juice
on my summer dress.

(This makes me think of a happy summer day; everything is smiling and happy but there's something sad or heavy looming on it.)

An accident.
Even the warmest day cannot contain or direct;
Until the summers end I'll wait here
Thinking you're just late
Checking my watch for flaws on the dial
Checking my hair in the patio wall.

(Sweet. Simply, beautifully, sweet. It has that longing hope tone to it of hoping that the one they are waiting for will come, yet you know they are doubting the arrival, and mentally torturing themselves for doubting it, and all at the same time dreading the arrival and dreading the failure of the one to come.)

There's birds out there singing
And bees watching from flowers
Making their honey, Honey (comma should be semi colon)
I bet you're around somewhere
Seeing the clumsy wreck that's left.

(Very well done Mademoiselle, it's almost as if the one waiting contains some slight hatred for the one they (in this case I believe, it's a she) await in a sense that they may become self conscious and blame themselves for the lack of the awaited arrival.



We all know that you're laughing
And laughing hard.
Do I see the others laughing?
They'll wait until the Summer's End.
Easier to forgive,
I think they forget
How it was.

(This is just... perfect; almost as if she's accusing the awaited and hating herself somehow)


Sat cross legged on the carpet floor
Sky unusually blue
22 seasons, all waiting for the Summers End (This is poetry, so I can't really change it, but I don't usually like the use of digits in a poem/story. I know it would drag it out, but I like when it's written out.)
Writing this all
I don't suppose you read.

(It's easy to see that they are lacking hope. It's almost as if she wants to keep hope alive, but she's almost afraid to... like she's an insecure person at this point.)

Got into and out of a million cars since then
I read a thousand words
Heard the piano
and heavier music
Heard the sound of breath at my ear
Spilt water on the carpet
And coke and vodka and tea
Spelt words wrong
Faked sickness
Dragged the heart out of me.

(I love this stanza. In trying to torture the one she awaits, she also lets the reader know that she is torturing herself too. )

All since the Summer End.
(Shan't this be "Summer's end?" I'm not sure, punctuation is where I lag in poetry. I really really liked this, and this is exactly the type of poem that belongs in a literature book or something. I would really love to see your work published!)