Dark, with depths unknown,
a well without a spring
lays patiently in wait
for summer rains that never come.
The brush, long since dried,
is frustrated, caught between
solemn stones and playful winds.
A pattern is seen within the sand
being blown about, a waltz with
decaying leaves flitting as
butterflies in broken synchronicity.
Her long hair partially hides her
face in strange wisps,
odd shadows forming as the sun
grasps hopelessly for more day,
lips curled at the precipice
…of a smile.
Published by Robert E Cano II
Poetry was my first foray into writing. Freeverse, complete with the requisite teenage angst that's far too overplayed, and then finally form poetry in various forms. Now, I'm a writer of short stories, novellas, novels and various forms of commentary, along with my first love - poetry. I am an editor as well, seeking to help my fellow authors in their endeavors to produce quality work.
View all posts by Robert E Cano II