the years picture shadows play, hanging like baubles on the tree.
reflecting the time gone, time yet to be.
some radiant with treasures, string of lantern lights
I know I need to buy some socks
A mundane thing, oh and cut my locks.
I need to make the unmade bed,
Make a list, clear my head.
Again you perform open heart surgery
with the skill of many years, blade wielded precision,
a sharp serpents tooth venom filled,
there is, she said, a typo in stanza three, no full stop in the fourth line and you have; here I can imagine her high dudgeon,
as she types, a spellingerror in the last line.
you have no sense of punctuation and your grammar though fair
is too obscure.
just ignore me I am the invisible one, one who stands on the periphery
unnoticed at parties, chameleon taking on the wallpaper hue
one who watches and listens to the fights, divisions, with derision or....
Stealthy it comes out the shadows,
a stab in the dark or a shaft of shifting shadow.
it comes lightening fast, azure and prickling
with passion red or in brooding silence.
Our egos can make us fly
then reality sets in and we crash wings on fire.
Reading the sadness between the lines
that crack of darkness, demon eyed.
hidden there within but always ready to ignite
spontaneous and frightening.