A Cascade: In Red
The bird laughs with no such glee,
as it stares down from branches dead.
Under the shade of this willow tree,
the child has found a metaphor in red.
With clumsy fingers that reach for skies,
from her mouth escapes an unheard plea.
As her rosy eyes are tainted with lies,
the bird laughs with no such glee.
A golden string from heavens high,
it now suspends a once wondrous seed.
Tears so thick they blind her eyes,
as it stares down from branches dead.
She leaves with her innocence torn,
as she despairs for her life once free.
She wonders why she was ever born
under the shade of this willow tree.
The silver skirt lies inches high,
she begs for someone else instead.
Now in pain, she see's her smile.
The child has found a metaphor in red.
YOU ARE READING
Through Tinted Lenses
Poetry"The writings of a convoluted iconoclast are stored within. Will you understand him?" Musingly yours, Staccato Beats
