The kite was soaring, gliding, laughing.
Along with her friends.
But one day.
Her soaring stopped.
Her gliding stopped.
Her laughing stopped.
By some thorns. She was
Speared and Skewered and Slitted.
Her soaring, gliding, laughing got
Replaced.
Dumped.
Leaving her tattered naked body
to be more pierced, pinned, pricked
by her Fellow 'Sisters'.
//Midnight Quill//
☆☆☆
14th October's entry! Hope you liked it. 😊
YOU ARE READING
Wuthering Symphony ✔
Poetry..through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium. ~ T.S. Eliot. The above mentioned verses from 'Rhapsody on a Windy Night' inspired me to make th...
