severn severn.

888

My bright one is no longer.

so...

 to distant pastures you leave me 

not out of

 destain 

my lovely one

I place 

a marble in your hands

 and as you leave

  see your reflection in

 it 

distorted into something 

you can't bear to show me

a denial is so easily accomplished 

but the soul grows weary....

it grows weary

sewing

...prick thatched skin.

maroon 

and scarlet drops that hang heavy

...fall slower than rain.

Severn is your friend.

Severn is your savour.

Severn is your killer.

Severn brings you nearer....

so here I am to completely tremble...

at the mere lucid hope of your words.

you writ me in water and I still see you there

Grow lone in the heath....

i wait.

No one comes.

Reviews

[Haley Smith]

There is something wonderfully intense about your poem. A deep, complicated relationship was drawn in my mind when I read it. And such wisdom in these lines!

"a denial is so easily accomplished
but the soul grows weary...."

Simply said but still very powerful. This is really great.

[Constance-Outspoken]

This is beautiful. I have no clue why no one has commented here.
You have a sense of natural rhythm throughout the poem, and the emotion is palpable and easy to identify with. There are some fantastic uses of language here... "it grows weary sewing prick thatched skin" for example. Lovely work. Thank you very much for allowing me a glimpse into your inner world.