She had hair that flew
when the top was down,
and reflected the light in her eyes-
built for fun, built for love,
she was ripe with the promise of life.
He was an artist,
a dreamer, (a prick)
a selfish myopic, eyes fixed on himself-
he used the word love like bait.
The chemistry of that time is gone,
only strands of memory drift down-
they loved - she lost
both him and their child,
and the meaning of things in her heart.
6 comments:
That wasn't bad at all!! I don't know why you would say that. The images are crystal clear, as well as the emotion those images bring to the surface. I thought it was beautiful - in my humble opinion.
"He was an artist,
a dreamer,(a prick)"
Ain't that the truth!
The End of the Innocence. I think every one of us knows when that happened, who (or what) to blame, and will grieve Its loss the rest of our lives.
This is NOT bad poetry. It's very good poetry. I'm Chris, and it's nice to meet you. The photo of those cookies are killin' me!
Oh, wow. I love it. (I especially like the use of parenthesis.)
That is really good. What's this bad crap?
I knew a guy like that too, and I couldn't be as poetic about it as you were.
Also, your PROMPTuesday ruled, baby! Why you don't wear your poetry hat more often?
The rhythm of this is actually really good. And evocative.
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