The Death of Grapes

I was perched high by the river house

You thought me an angel of tree

Enamored by life

My clothes were made from a second-hand age

A cane to conquer my odd curiosities-

 

You donned the helmet of a queen

I was a man burning in stillness

Offering you the face of a daffodil

Though it would be broken before the spring

 

You needed a Prince

And I was merely a mime

Dancing with the island of pronged forks

A train bound passenger

Traveler of windows and trial

You were the music to my healing

Butter in peanut shy blue

Doorknobs to the unopened

Hung by their strings of chin

You were a blend of cereal sludge and the ghost of a mockingbird

And so I havered-

As men reluctant often do

While you neglected to fight back your world for me

Though I was dying in memory avocado

Wordless in our night of orchestrated balloon

 

A bubble in tempo and tapioca

Ours alone to burst 

Reviews

[Shaquana Adams]

I really enjoyed the imagery here, especially at the end. Nicely penned :)
-QuanaWana

[Alisa Js]

Hello again from across the way,

I have often wondered about the whole 'havered' thing. Maybe at the end of the day or night, whatever the case may be, there is a reasonable semblance of sense to it, afterall.

The moonlight comes to twinkle as the stars in the clouds do, so far above.

Wishing you well, always...

alisa ;-)

[KWP]

wow - of all of your works that I have read thus far ... this one I like the best

right from the start you grabbed at senses as the night played out between 'thee and a queen'

a moment, yes a moment but what a magical serendipitous capture of time surrounded by daffodils, mockingbirds and bubbles ..a story within a lullaby ...

hmmmm this one leaves me smiling x