Is it sacred?
that sporadic tremor,
as you turn your head
toward the skyblown dawn.
Does the stigma
of your bright longing,
hinder your fluid movement
as you pledge a foul allegiance,
to those plaster reproductions
of your unrequited love.
You can not enmesh with illusion,
for fantasy is seditious in its unfolding.
Each tuft of grass, that is soft covering
those interminable, unspeakable,
nether regions of your mind.
Understands the taint
of your tread.
It knows its place,
beneath each touch
of your hard soled foot.
Written for wordle 17 at The Sunday Whirl
I almost gave up on this one earlier today!
I had written the first four lines straight away. . . as soon as I saw the wordle words, they popped into my head fully formed. Then I went away and left them simmering!
When I came back to them this evening, I was able to finish this piece, (after looking up 'seditious.' - I do hope I have used it correctly!)
As always I am really pleased that I was able to use all the words! :-)
I would be interested what conclusions the reader comes to about this. As I, as I usually do, just felt my way through, letting myself be guided by the wordle words. And now I am trying to piece together 'the story' inside the words.