Moving

The stack is too tall

But the mound

Of boards

Of plush

Of change

Can’t touch

The ground 

Without withering

It into

A sickly,

Fading,

Dust.

A field of dahlias.

Nola_hall

WA

13 years old

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  • Poetry

    By Nola_hall

    Go

    Over and over the ride awaits

    A carriage good and sound

    A go, to go, forego, we go

    and now the round spins!--

    tilts on it's axis no more or,

    freeform expression a painting perhaps

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  • Poetry

    By Nola_hall

    The Aurora Borealis

    He pleads and begs with knees rusty and matted

    Feet of vines to soak the fall not bound like his wife's

    before Dysentery dragged His sword

    into her glowing heart.

    A guarded truth of us 

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