Currents
I grow Strangly, its the wildred blossoming spasms of a deviant
thats carefully slipping into liquidating winds,
and its storming through a world where cracked tibias embrace the neck.
And beneath, hair slowly rising as tentacles,
will be falling on the veins of a careful hearts avalanche,
and the streaming pink currents following,
always resemble a glimmering black pearls submission,
much like a broken wish, lusting for the obliteration of the sun.
And so, an emergence of a head crowned in butterflys...
Can be seen as a play-full reflection in shallow ponds of blood,
where a ravenous limp around a fairys garden,
soon brakes a leg, to mix the shattered wings in with the mud.
A rusty cuff mocks the grinding of the key...
Natural seems deafening when its drowned at sea,
where pale limbs entangle, unknowingly,
and the only horror is what's washed up ashore,
discovered by a innocent, who can't help but too adore.
Copyright © Francois Hillebrand | Year Posted 2010
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