Muse |
Muse |
Looking as if through cotton wool,
âmy eyes roll slow and lethargic, Sponged of their moisture. Red rugs unfold As paths to here and there, Tossing their small swollen fingers With a salty wave, Branching out as blood shoots across The white desert. A nautical drop walks the planks Lining this cracked boat That's dry as sand dust; Collecting in the corner, It sleeps on - There's no man of my dreams. A spike of electricity Shocks the wool stiff And blows my eyes wide! Pain pinches down those scarlet tunnels, Carrying my tiredness to my body, Hunched. My eyes reflect the shine of the big screen And splinter again, Sputtering between blinks. They glaze, Encased in icing sugar Sprinkled like cellophane over my mouth. Breaking under pressure, A small stream prevails But relief is found from a bottle. And then the flood comes.
Originally written 30th March 2020, age 24
0 Comments
The face shone faintly in a golden light. Thin, curly hair rested on her head like honey, Trickled round her face. Her dark eyes were focused on something That we could not see; They were full of dread, fear, anxiousness, As though expecting something or someone. By her ear, red and black threads entwined each other, From a plait into a bow; To the end, a sphere-shaped pearl hung, A droplet of silvery, white liquid. Framing the frightened face was a thin, handwoven fabric, As if to shield her identity. Clinging to her throat, a white band, Embroidered with gold. The face is a centre piece of the surrounding darkness, Of bad memories, dreams, emotions, Trapped forever. Originally written in 2009, age 13
|
AuthorSamantha is a doctoral researcher researching the power of figurative language in advertising, social media, and mobile technology. Copyright © 2022
Categories
All
Archives
June 2022
|