Picture: One of my arts/crafts pieces that I make and sell for my charity CRUK. Ghost peacock painted on heavy slate.
Azure lawns cry,
stuck in the past
like dew tears
on dampened stones.
the darkness can be still be seen,
of black grass
dancers mop up tears,
waltzing the air
with ghost like peacock
fans over their broken faces;
hover like wisps
of winter taking
one, last, look back.
where those peacocks
once ran wild,
their rainbow fans
since crumbled to dust
to cover all that must
stay hidden while
Azure lawns cry.
Picture: A R Quinton
From waterfalls to stepping stones, meandering
across history’s bones, I am halted by a sound,
the sound of mandolins.
Sinewy and tempered, the strings play their song,
accompanied by a chorus made up of flocking doves.
I stroll and become enamoured before succumbing
to temptation and falling in love with fate. Tumbling heathers
bow and lend to gentle footsteps, crooning whilst retracing
a long forgotten voice.
I rest a while in contemplation and let myself be trampled
by hordes of folk returning, who hear the strumming
soothes of a sound, a sound from deep within.
Read of the future
inserted in ancient scrolls
cracked code unabridged
Day 71 /365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog