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
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 396
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
