The branches hang trophies of golden light,
a dusky orange, bled from the seams
streaked like canon smoke
gnarled tree limbs
wave forth from sandy graves
supporting the weight of the sky
the remembrance,
of a misty blue-grey worth holding.
Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
There is a dam in the distance, with wide walls
Purple leaves that bob in the valley
The mountains with the shadows that burn
And the snow that meanders disease
I ride with my horse the patches of moon
Upon hills stitched with copper
Orchards with their torso’s aflame
Hang their heads in silence, as the hush falls
The sky falls and they are vanquished once again
Stripped bare of wisdom, of courage and worth
Beyond the chaos is the door
The door with an eager eye that opens
With figures that trail blood and gold.
by Kate
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
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