Whispers of Anemone
She sits alone
In the chiselled grey of stone
In her thoughts so stubborn
Leaves airborne
Mostly unknown
The little that is known
Of the silence in her shapely bone
Is hidden in the tendrils overgrown
In her ringlet curls
Infinity neatly furled
Its splashes
In her eyelashes
Nestling her cares
Of the flowers of her prayer
What will be fair
To do away with or bear?
Thorns in the crimson air
Thoughts multilayered
Collected in thick braid of her hair
In her mental eye
She looks there
Reaping the pain she had sown
She sits alone
In a wing of the bird a desire
In the other a low moan
She sits alone
Look at her heart on her face
A melancholy grace
Blood inside in race
Yet moonlight likes to come apace
And fill the beautiful space
Near the flute of her nose
Near the eyelids closed
In contemplation
Of the waves in the ocean
A mighty tug of war
Between happiness and sadness
How lonely life has grown
Whispers of anemone
In the chiselled grey of stone
She sits alone
______________________________________
August 9, 2017
For the contest by Eve Roper
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