Poetry By
Sarah O'Scalaidhe
Published on: 4/3/2013
Calendar Pages
Is it summer haze or frost on the window panes that makes the world outside so blurry? Are the colors blossoms, or are they falling leaves? Seasons confuse me now, ever since… whenever that day was.
Published on: 4/1/2013
Pretty
I pressed the flowers between the pages for months, to match her new complexion, before I put them on her grave, so she could still feel pretty, like she always was.
Published on: 3/29/2013
Her Symphony
The whispers dancing round your gentle face Are streaming chords of silk arpeggio. The beat of feathered drums gives up the pace Just as the blues sing out both soft and slow. Resounding notes of crimson stain the bell With raging echos heard from silent cries, And light staccato tones to kiss and swell will break ones heart before the music dies. It is the face of music that I see, And now I'll offer it a harmony.
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