On a Wall (formally-Staring)

This poem was inspired by a painting in my youth pastors house.

 Crimson Flowing down a path, drawing you in with its shifting hues.

                    It arch's up to dive back down into the river from which it came.

           It burns heat radiates from it anything it touches it consumes. 

                         It bends the force of it pushes all from its path.

                                  It is like the fires of chaos, uncontrolled and yet never leaving its pattern.

                   I'm lost in its hues, 

                                       from the brightest yellows to reds deeper then blood.

                                                                 I stair at it for hours and yet I never tire.

It sifts looking at it it moves or is it I that have moved?

                                      I don't know.

                                                               Caged, gold  surounds it keeping it form its self.

 

                            Marveless, all who see it never forget. 

                                                   

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think; if you see any spelling mistakes let me know, and yes I do know that "pattern" is not in line.

Reviews

[ms.trelly]

you mispelled a couple but i really like the poem