Anne P. Murray Poet Prose Poetry

Temple of Cinnamon Memories

The echoes~ 
from a haunting refrain 
     buried deep, 
within the many corridors 
    of her heart 
weave their tangled, worn threads 
    playing on her memories 
like the delicate, frayed strings 
   of a lonely violin.
 
Lingering whispers intricately 
   seek the depths to the labyrinth 
of her soul, creating a tapestry  
   of wild cinnamon roots and leaves.
 
Her wounds of torn and shattered illusions 
   roar their voices in her mind 
like a jungle of ethereal savagery 
   that clipped her silken dreams 
leaving her flying with broken wings.
 
         Then~ 
the tenderest of love came unto her 
   opening her eyes with magic rays 
that touched her spirit 
   with its fiery fingers of love 
opening her heart  
   to the rebirth of lost dreams. 
 
When his wings unfolded 
   he beckoned her to come 
             And ~ 
      She followed  




Anne P Murray
C@2011 LadeeAnne

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Richard Moriarty June 12, 2011 at 9:16 PM I really feel the anger and bitterness, both of which if allowed will destory the beauty within - why let it?

Paul Keenan June 12, 2011 at 2:30 PM I love all the imagery! The way you discribe her being used. I really like it.

Poet Destroyer A June 12, 2011 at 2:17 PM DARK DEEP.. WITH MYSTERY.. I LOVE IT.. THANKS FOR SHARING,..P.D.

Linda-Marie Sweetheart June 12, 2011 at 2:17 PM intensely dramatic poetry Anne ..very creative and intriguing too luv..