(a Fib)
Red,
cold
here in
my shamed hands,
lifted high to fly
from frozen lips, old scattered heart.
Fresh start, from this strong quiet place
sharp edges now worn,
thorns shed and
held fast,
un
said.
(a Fib)
Red,
cold
here in
my shamed hands,
lifted high to fly
from frozen lips, old scattered heart.
Fresh start, from this strong quiet place
sharp edges now worn,
thorns shed and
held fast,
un
said.
Written for The Mag’s photo prompt: http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2012/02/mag-103.html
Excellent
What a great idea to hide your title in parentheses! Your two first lines and two last lines are my favorite. Brevity and clipping are totally my thing too. š
Oh yes. I like it!
=)
“Unsaid” is such a powerful ending statement…