wiccansamurai Posted April 9, 2004 Share Posted April 9, 2004 This is about the third draft of this poem. Purple paint, smear'd on a window clear doorway leads to untold. Falling to cinders, soft leaves of gold the girl loses flight, and falls to the snow. Of all the days she crawled blindly she chose this one to leap Now purple paint, hat is so intermittent, is so cheap. But it hides it all so kindly. her blood wrapped in it. her window so dark. she daren't leave a single mark on those she wished to hit Doorways clear, are simple. concealing nothingin open books, inviting all to take an uncaring look. Thinking they're good examples, but empty rooms conjoined have white washed walls of bitter silk that deceive and bilk and have endlessly purloined. smiling, she soars through thin clouds. the ones she fell into, their inquisition, asking "who?" but truth it shrouds. Anyway, if you could write your opinions soon, I'd be very grateful. I need to turn this in for something. (School literary mag.) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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