Lavender

feathers

My favorite personal composition...

--
He tiptoes through the fields of insanity
hitting every note in the scale of autumn.
A witness with a paintbrush depicts
the trip over the seedling of auburn,
and his descension from publicity.

The photographs, now all but faded,
present the look of his eyes in September.
His burden of being the sun afflicts
the shadows of pines he can remember,
but does not prevent his mug shot being paraded.

He swung with the Lavender flowers
as he laughed in the solitude of falling leaves.
The spoken word ended with the suffix
that was not mirrored by his pet peeves,
or the ill temper of the barrel's abrupt power.

I hate you for this.
--

Let me know what you think.

grooveamatic

The writing here is undoubtedly superb; top notch. You have a true feel for the line. My only thought is that the last line of stanza two slightly seems to break the flow...it feels out of place, the words not as carefully chosen.

Overall, though, this is incredible...my hat off to you.