A tapestry of green grass hair
runs thick beneath a maiden's thigh,
the luscious drops of golden daylight
ordained with the fruits of colors,
and the warmth in melodic, silver chimes -
A beckon to the elusive ether
blanketed amongst the skies.
Dew drops in quiet ecstasy,
the weaving sheaves of baby's breath,
a softness is a masseuse to the eyes
and dwindling clouds of innocence…
Circle the iris, so opaline
a lush soul jewel,
a pristine twin of serpentine.
It is how you view the blades of growth
and whether you are deified or victimized.
The pupil is bitter, stone cold and blind
to all but the steady beat of light.
Irony chipped in window panes,
in the shedding pigments of the sky.
Perception morphs the wicked
into a diamond net of life.
Your lashes brush aside you demons,
or entreat them to enter in;
but rapture is just a fragrance
born by noonday's whims.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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Original Text:
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
Very, very good. I give you a hearty congrats on a master poem!
A beautifully written poem, with stunning, vivid imagery. I loved this.
i believe i will have to agree with everyone else. this is brilliant. good word, brilliant. it describes this well, i think.
Wow, your poems are good. Great. Excellent. Fantastic. Uber. Take your pick.
Beyond excellent. There are no substantial crits I can give, but I found something small:
"Your lashes brush aside you demons," Should this perhaps be "your" demons?
Otherwise, absolutely perfect.
Good poem. I really enjoyed reading it and felt the emotion you put in. No crit.
Once every so often (it'd probably happen more if I came here more often) I read something with imagery thats so strong and vivid I'm forced to smile; it goes past "Thats so good, I wish I'd written it," and heads into, "I'm glad someone wrote that." It doesn't necessarily happen with the best poems, just the 'real' ones. I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore.
I have no criticisms.
Great work.