I TASTED THE STORIES

SUSPENDED WORLDS

Apple blossom tiara tangled in my hair,

twisted leaf bud rings around my fingers,

I loved the trees with the love of a daughter.

Trees can only speak with wind running through their leaves,

I can only speak with ink running through my pen,

we share the sadness

of silence.

The trees whispered stories to me when I was a child,

old stories with yellowing faces, and feverish like yellow.

Stories crawled through my dreams and swam over my eyes

until they ran through my blood like they run through sap.

My head cradled between two roots as thick as my arms,

I would respin each tale with a plastic pen.

They gave me their curse

of silence.

GraceDecember 18, 2011 at 1:22 PM
That's haunting and... since I know the backstory, even more beautiful. Did you want critiques or just me to gaze at it in starry eyed wonder, as usual? *jealous of Red's skillz*
BekkaleeDecember 18, 2011 at 1:34 PM
*laughs merrily* You're a doll. Critiques, as always.
GraceDecember 19, 2011 at 6:41 PM
Weeeelllll, there's only one I can think of. "old stories with yellowing faces, feverish like yellow" echoes somewhat, using "yellow" twice as a description.

Otherwise, keep it this way. I love the format and it's rare and beautiful!
BekkaleeDecember 20, 2011 at 12:14 PM
Thank you! I'll play with that line.

I love you <3