Set the flowers down or put them in a vase. Water is the element, so needed to sustain. Walk on walls, with broken glass, too fitting for my taste. I could see you on the horizon. Balls of fire sent from the sky. Where fairies in disguise are hiding.
Water fire glass
Ice melts-flowers wilt in the sun
Much to my surprise
Old witches stand around to watch, you beautify, as they age.
Take seeds of pleasure from their pockets and turn them into gold.
As ice forms on withered brows. Frozen and ready to crumble.
Oh, isn’t it hell getting old. Immortality is never vexed.
Beautiful gold seeds
Scattered on the open fields
Death can’t be denied
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
2 years ago