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Autumn leaves fly
in the wind, blow
across the land, crumble
under foot, and color
soil in shades alive.
Pages flutter,
as books are read,
folio all, tapestry
of words, sprinkle
silently across sight.
People wisp away
from our life, littering
memory with faint
remnants, crumbling heart,
and stalling soul.
© 2009 Lisa G. Beaudoin
The Editor’s Clinic: Yonder lies the castle of my father.
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Yes, I know, Tony Curtis never actually said the line. But does sum up one
of the problems this morning’s editing is trying to address – language that
is ...
15 hours ago
1 comment:
I love this poem! Wow. Especially the last stanza.
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