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She stood hair of scarlet
as a beacon on that lonely hillside.
Beneath the tilt of clouds,
more black than grey.
Silent, void in all her qualities.
Her derelict stance
made me stop – to glance.
In openness
I appealed
If one falls; if
What then.
Her body faltered –
China pale descending petals
kissing cold the granite of whitest
white.
Who will light me a candle
on this barren night.
For in this bitter-sweet reek of living alone
I am about  to come undone.
My deceits  left me all mislaid
I battled hard those disliked
tendrils of ache.
Willed to purge them with my bile
Yet should I hold my self
in tainted censure –
Are men not born ill-fated; weak
so open to persuasion.
Should lacklustre climates;
gather about our feet.
Then surely, we can seek out
that warmth, so absent from the hearth.
May well my love, have blazed
her hair of red.
Alas, for me; it never seemed
to warm our bed…

© Poppy Taylor 2013

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Todays piece comes from Poppy Taylor, who we have featured before (under the name Poppy Scarlett). This piece of free verse to us has a little bit of Emily Dickinson in it. Melancholy, introspective, and searching for something. A stunning piece. Leave comments below and share this piece with the world.

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