#511 (threadbare)

threadbare sways

the cloak she chose

to wear, the signs of

time have browsed off

the seams and center of

her green mystique.

ephemeral odes to

unseen worlds behind

the veil, where beauty

lies, but madness speaks

the truth. inside that

realm of drunken prophets

a swinging door, so slightly

hidden from mortal eyes

and carnal sin, to show

her if she reached within

the colours’ rejuvenating

core had been there aeons

and before. the journey for

another thread grows futile

she might just instead embrace

the wisdom of her years,

erasing not but phasing

fears of dried out wells

and burnt down homes,

imaginary power roams.


© Matthias Grupe, 12th August 2018

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