some poetry of imagery for you

Written by me (for class). It’s a long post, so click below to read.

Tainted Hills

The hills are tainted

by harvest moon’s light.

Its trees are painted

in a deep red blight.

By harvest moon’s light,

the haystacks are bathed

in a deep red blight,

waiting to be razed.

The haystacks are bathed

like a bruised scab wound.

Waiting to be razed,

together they’re bound.

Like a bruised scab wound,

the crops linger by.

Together they’re bound,

under the man’s eyes.

The crops linger by,

pickings awaited.

Under the man’s eyes,

the hills are tainted.

Orange, Granite, and Green World

Knees deep in orange

bubbles and lava,

surrounded by plants

of the same likeness.

The body of bees,

legs of spiders, and

faces of women

these creatures fly by,

dancing and darting

between the blossoms.

I climb out the pit,

its texture pixel.

The steps go up like

The Giant Causeway,

and I arrive to

the base of stairs made

by immense statues

of grubby granite.

I keep climbing up

the faces of the

shamed and sorrowful.

Faces hidden by

hands from the others.

Palms cupped, fingers clenched,

they meld together

like mold. I stopped mid

way, my hands hugged to

my warm foggy breath.

The air is too cold

to continue on.

Alone I sit there,

huddled alone there.

Scattered in the sky,

stars sprinkled the sea

of jade, reflecting

the green world below

where bright candle lights

dance among the trees.