I Silently sipping the last limping remains of wine
within the crumbling confines of my glass .
guiltlessly glistening in the amorous arms of evergreen.
Lonesomely , my eyes lift themselves
up from my blackened
blue brass bottle of bitterness
and gradually grows aware
of the arid aristocratic atmosphere.
Lustered with the luminous larks
who lurk within the numbing neon
nature of the iridescent nightlife.
But among these unfruitful flocks
feebly flutters the faint fanciful feathers of the frigid finch.
Who still sternly staggers his weakened way through the
world’s wishful
word woven woodlands of what if towards the eternally
terminal edge
of mortality.
In search of an answer
patiently perched upon the topic of
what light lingers within the relieving realms of truth.
Comments
Your best
This is your best work in my opinion.
Tim
Thank you rosewood
https://youtu.be/I5ai6TVcWrs
My inspiration, it gave me the image of a feeble finch whose fanciful feathers always fluttering through the plaintive paranoid pastures of possibilities the eternal edge of its mortality . Just to finally come face to face with the truth trickling down into the frank fountain of fruition .
The Frigid Finch
Hello, Edward,
Your references throughout and language tie this piece together very well, along with your inspiration. Your final line is beautiful and thought provoking by itself.
Thank you!
L