I clung on tight to the roots which grew,
the years, the youth, the revelry we knew
— The vines of Life by Laura Antonia Abbott

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 Wasteland

We stripped the world of dignity
to glorify our selfish vanity
filling the seas
till the tides rose
and the oceans cried out in shame.
Naivety or insolence
still we chose to close our eyes.
Yet nothing could disguise
the wasteland we had cast aside
and the footprint we could never hide.

 

 
 
 

 
 

The vines of life

I clung on tight, to the roots which grew
the years, the youth, the revelry we knew;
we conquered together huge heights in tow
the passing, the woe, the truths untold;
I held you aloft, weaved in wreaths of gold faith,
the loyalty, the truth which blanketed my view.
the Fall.
the darkness
the hands which untwined
the unmasked answers you buried behind,
defeated.
i lay with the tears which trickled
the silence which fell
as the moonlight quivered
the pain, the hurt, the history, the laughs.
the vines of life,
which fell
from our grasp.

 
 
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The traveller’s daughter

She told tall tales of clouded kingdoms,
cloaked up in blackened capes
and in my deepest slumber
I’d travel there to wake,
barefoot among the dancing snowflakes
and pillared walls of grey,
the winter wolf, my guardian
trailing silver shadows in the snow.

 
 
 

 
 
 
 

Garden King

‘Under moss quilted skies, he wept inside
melancholic meadows all painted blue.
He carried his queen down the mottled banks green,
out through the mouth of the running stream.
Summer faltered, winter thawed,
he laid her to rest on a garden nest
weaving seeds among hopeful dreams;
waiting for the seasons shift.

At last the world was tucked up tight.
He crept along spring’s path of promise
lingering with abated breath;
for flourishing in the eventide
he found true love, bathed in pools of light.
His kingdom abundant, burning bright.’

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