Written by Brandon Connor |
Published on:
An explosion of hair in her face is disclosing
the beauty of the eyes veiled beholding
a dream unfolding where the poor are gold and
war is at most a bloody tale told in
the misty night when the tired have grown old
without the tolls of belly aches, headaches, of long days, and frights
Bold in that stare behind her marigold locks
unearthing sand from the cogs of the clock
to find the prophecies of ink written in chalk
and the hourglasses spilling time when broken in thought

Speared was a heart fleeing the thought 
of what values would be shed plucking clots
leaving erased from the gallows written red where thou arts

To thank love apologize not from a part
within the within the humanitarian chart
is to disgrace predecessors flooded where caught 
red-handed bearing spirits not winded but sought

Ever flusters her retreating tendrils, those magnificent knots,
from their comfortable or fleeting pores, where ink drops on the flesh and blots 


(written sometime during 2015)

Copyright © TravelDailyLife.com

Form of Poetry


Author: Brandon Connor
Brandon Connor is 24 years old and has been writing seriously for roughly 6 years, but has been practicing the craft since he was child. He has written a few novels, as well as poetry and a number of short stories. He has extensive experience in subjects like mental health, small business, art, as well as persuasive or otherwise professional writing.


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