Head bent, winding
mix of tears and
leaves. Tumbling
softly to a dusty
earth. Swept up in bags, shipped off to
stacks of
smoke and
steam and soot.
Yellows and reds and
greens and browns die in hazy orange tongues,
slowly, painfully,
quiet, no
voice.
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141,369 Literary Works • 674,383 Reviews
It's a pretty good poem. It's flow is good, but I got kind of confused because I could not really find a main thing to focus on.
You are talking about leaves... yes?
Pretty good.
I LOVE your style of writing! xx
First of all I love your siggie, it's so true
This is an ok poem. I don't really get it. It starts with someone with their head bent over and ends with factory flames? You might want to clear it up a bit.
Keep writing,
Alzora