Thursday, September 22, 2005

young

They were young
to the world.
Only she would compose
her vivid dreams.
Soon, he was like
her silhouette:
black,
suffering,
surreal.

12 comments:

finnegan said...

I smelled this one from way over here. I Am the suffering "he" of her silhouetted dreams.

My life is now a very fine mess.

Shubhodeep said...

simple and stunning!

well written!

btw, i'm finally back!

check out at shubhodeep.blogspot.com

cheers!

Shubhodeep said...

simple and stunning!

well written!

btw, i'm finally back!

check out at shubhodeep.blogspot.com

cheers!

. : A : . said...

"her silhouette:
black,
suffering,
surreal."

Good alliteration.

Anonymous Poet said...

Interesting coincidence. My latest piece is about a silhouette, too.

gulnaz said...

suffering does seem to become surreal when it goes beyong a point. excellent observation!!!

gulnaz said...

suffering does seem to become surreal when it goes beyong a point. excellent observation!!!

:..M..: said...

Oh my. That was..it took my breath away.

. : A : . said...

Btw, Happy Birthday.

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

I like this though it sugests painful emotions, short but intense

Pincushion said...

'Soon, he was like
her silhouette:
black,
suffering,
surreal...'

Painful and starkly beautiful!

yvaine said...

This stirred up so much pain inside me.

You are wonderful with your words.