Sharp shadows swirl,
Distorting the flawless moon
Or sky or leaf.
Soaking like blood;
Black as night.
Creating passion in the careful curves,
Each movement deciding fate itself.
Mistakes turn to knots turn to black holes.
Which poison the pearlescent beauty
And drag the shadows closer,
Distracting them from their motions.
Soon to escape again.
Straight, angled, curved.
Twisting. Twirling.
Engraving.
Burning through realities.
Creating poetry
And magic and light,
For all eyes to see.
They admire the shadows
Or curse them.
Grading their beauty
And power and strength.
From the silence in which they were born,
In a room of worry and trepidation.
Where men stalk the corridors
To inspect the swirling creations.
And burning with a hundred flames;
The souls of the shadows.
A call echoes from somewhere.
The shadows stop dead on the once pale moon
Or sky or leaf,
Which now pulses with originality and pride.
Each unique composition collected.
Each bright flame put out.
The Exam is over.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of my Mind
PoetryThese are a collection of poems that I have written in my spare time and at University. They're in practically chronological order from 2009 - present day (except the first couple) so the most recent updates WILL be more thought-out and poetic. But...
