Great Expectations,
Miss Havisham,
Miss Havisham,
embedded secluded, on dusty
wooden gilded throne,
behind cobwebbed curtains,
Majestic Marvel, First Created,Sacred, now rests transfixed
in false reprehensions,
As scattered clouds scan
and search terrestial to
celestial dimensions
Only to find twisted torments
blood filled swamps,
whirring swarms of discontents
amidst seas of colorfully placed flowers, Supreme Sopranos burnt to ashes.
2 comments:
Anjum, Your poem is a gorgeous response to the wordle. I love your use of sound - alliteration, assonance, consonance - throughout the piece. I am happy that you are participating in The Sunday Whirl. Your writing intrigues me.
~Brenda
Elaborate and detailed... beautiful.
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