Dishwater Dull
She meekly chased after
nonexistent moonbeams
in rose fashioned pipe
dreamt illusions,
as visual stimuli to
rock her existence
of inky stark impressions,
inciting some exertion
in her bland universe,
she was ever so ordinarily dull
even her reflection in the
deepest sapphire seas,
appeared drab as dishwater,
she lived in a world of her
own fabricated deceptions.
yet, she wondered why every
coercive consequence was an
analogy hued of washed-out gray
releasing shady gasps of Pandora's box
Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment