The little tree of mine evolving before my very midst -- each twisted line of poetry, woven colorful phrase, and knarled root of ideas -- growing into a bundle of branches.
Posted in response to the challenge Ode to a Tree.
The little tree of mine evolving before my very midst -- each twisted line of poetry, woven colorful phrase, and knarled root of ideas -- growing into a bundle of branches.
Posted in response to the challenge Ode to a Tree.
A wingspan of ash, she scours the sky for signs of a way forward.
Beneath, the writhing landscape of a future so foreign we cannot yet comprehend which color she will be.
Melts the sun
With her ferocity– stripped away,
Turned into fragility,
We gasp as moon swallows sun.
We call it: “catastrophe,” as if — it is different.
A child nursed of negligence.
Yes, it is not ours —
Comments
Really cool line work! Like little knots in the tree. My favorite part is the recessed branches in gray shadow, which add such great dimension to the piece.
Love the way you colored it!
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