Poem: Yellow Signs Rising

Yellow Signs Rising

Yellow sun rising
as the silken thread is spun through the air,
through twists and turns,
ups and downs,
slides and glides.
The words form
                             slowly,
                                          gently.
Their cursive leaves you longing,
turning circles ‘round the room
for the unspoken thoughts of memories
long                         away
        and
far                            ago.

Yellow tides rising
as a cotton yarn moves,
curving and racing,
turning sharply,
avoiding the walls built from
                                                                      silence,
and carefully dipping and twisting its smooth web
so fine
and
full of hope,
slowly crumbling the brick to show
its letters
posed and given.
They flood the shore with
remember-whens and it’ll-be-okays
as the red and grey are swept away
and buried under their swirled print.

Yellow signs rising
as twine jerks around,
sharp
and
stabbing
and
                                                    leaving.
Their ghosts last longer than their forms.
Words lingering roughly
Whilst the wall stays
                                                    behind and
hidden away.
Their caps glaring in the dark and light.

Published by A Boggus Life

I am an eclectic reader and editor who solves Rubik's cubes, writes, draws and paints, and longs to live in England and France.

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