Colour drained,
the coverlet petals
are cold and lifeless;
like frozen ashes
awaiting the shattering
of a monochrome breeze.
Unrequited
by the flush
and blush
of hue filled brush
this is a world
untouched
by the technicolour
affectation of love.
An inverse negative
suggesting possibilities
denying reality
and the soft
benefice
of God.
1 comment:
Always amazed by your poetry, but sometimes you really shine brilliantly with your verse. I think this is one of those times. For me, it is.
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