Over the hill lay still
Glass within myself perturbed
The land of the living calling faintly
Nay enticing
Why take reality
When reality breaks?
Everything melted and melded
Welded together with honey and sap.
Petals falling,
Hair growing.
her confused brow more beautiful than before,
And the cartons are grieving
For past wrinkled, shrivelled.
Driven from tender ears.
Whom wrapped in white shall be?
Ceased and cursed of red hand raised?
A hand still against me,
After all these years.
I shake my head and walk on,
For who cares for the shop windows
Of a future we cannot have?

December ’04


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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