In the last world, where the sky is so many browns, and the skating wind barely settles into the loam-- deep and dank in lost detritus and bone, suffered by sun and leached by rain to none, so glows the infinite tempo-- chosen with tears and angry fists dipping soft crescent moons into the dirt. And wings plucked from butterflies, dried and crisped with colored trails of dust on mottled winds are prisms that magnify the light and shave the sun into soft kaleidoscopes of something broken something brown-- a sky that traded its hue for the ease of rusting waves.
Thanks Pheonix. Sylvan you can find all kinds of symbols in Microsoft Word. Just click Insert -> symbol and browse to your hearts content. Any comments or criticisms for this poem are welcome.
Excellent first two stanzas, and striking imagery throughout. Very dry hindsight speaking, in the language of luminosity, of what was once so mottled and aciditic. I wanted to see the third stanza shorted to four lines, for symmetry... perhaps combining the 2nd & 3rd lines. The And starting the 4th stanza and the 2nd occurrence of brown seemed a bit awkward.... watch 'and' usage. Each of your works is so intricate and unique. Thank you for letting me know about MS Word... Right now I'm using a Mac, however. I loved the brittle coloring.
