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The Collector
March 26, 2013
Words spiral down
And pile upon themselves
In dunes of shimmering white.
But such is the perfection of an untainted landscape
That I daren’t step for fear of tarnishing it’s brilliant vastness.
And only when the words have melted slightly,
And are pooling and dripping like Vanilla icecream upon the sidewalk
Will I venture out,
Counting my history in sunken footsteps,
And collect the stories that lay before me.
© Kim B., Marblehead, MA
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This article has 2 comments.
LexusMarie PLATINUM said...
on Jul. 28 2013 at 3:07 pm
Hey there! I don't believe we've ever commented on each other's work, so it's nice to meet you! I had to read this twice to take in everything, your attention to small detail is SO specific. You really do have a way with words. The first sentence was absolutely beautiful! Each line has an effect on the reader as your vocabulary is spectacular and your wording is brilliantly chosen. The simplicity of the poem was great, knowing the poem would end so soon, I really payed attention to each and every line. You did a beautiful job here.
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