deepundergroundpoetry.com
Bluebell Time Machine
That Bluebell Wood’s a Time Machine.
Each dome portrays a different scene.
Transfixed I dance within the dream,
Lost in-sense, might have beens..
Nostalgia is the drug, it seems;
Blue heads bounce under bare trees.
Broken stems, scattered leaves;
Her essence still upon the breeze.
Blood of bloom upon my knees,
crushed, these distant memories.
I’m lost in time. And you.
Each dome portrays a different scene.
Transfixed I dance within the dream,
Lost in-sense, might have beens..
Nostalgia is the drug, it seems;
Blue heads bounce under bare trees.
Broken stems, scattered leaves;
Her essence still upon the breeze.
Blood of bloom upon my knees,
crushed, these distant memories.
I’m lost in time. And you.
Published 2nd Apr 2020
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