Sam
By Jon Slone
Sam crouched in her prison of waiting and cried.
And the streaming of tears made a pool for the bride.
And the box that contained her, it never consoled.
And her blanket of sorrow couldn’t fight off the cold.
And a small speck of blue that bore out through the crag
Did little to reverse her from striking her flag.
So there the girl slumped, in the chains that hope bought-her.
And the only thing left there to do was shed water.
Jon Beauty-from-ashes Slone
It's kinda forlorn and sad and I surely don't nned any help with that on mondays...but I can appreciate the work...well written and I'm sorry she was crying alone....good job...
ReplyDeleteWow, that was grim and yet so beautifully written. I was really taken by the imagery the words evoked. Good work, Jon.
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