deepundergroundpoetry.com

Supernova

There's a house I pass
on the journey home, pink glaze,
most of them are in Suffolk,
at least those worth gazing inside,
giving tale to faceless life.
I picture you,
a vaultless soul
birthing planets, swallowing Moons,
turn tides in the larynx
overcome
with alien whispers.
A mandolin is played by an angelic sprite
resting light on a shelf,
as another phase of you
shifts through to haunt the hall.
I'll reverse,
traverse another cartographer's mind,
romanticise regiment,
stabilise on routine,
and then sometimes,
though infrequently,
hear strings
and softened galaxies.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3 reading list entries 1
comments 2 reads 320
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
COMPETITIONS
Today 8:58am by summultima
SPEAKEASY
Today 3:01am by SweetKittyCat5
WORKSHOP
Today 1:52am by TomBaxter
POETRY
Today 1:50am by TomBaxter
POETRY
Today 1:43am by Kinkpoet
SPEAKEASY
Today 00:19am by Ahavati