I wrote this poem in 2003 about someone I was falling for, but sadly it was never meant to be. It seems this is how love always turns out for me.
The Fall
Sleepy splashes of sunset gold,sighed softly and sank toward the sun.Floating on the scented air,two distant souls collided,suspended by the swirling breeze,spiraled skyward;separate yet inseparable, danced slow and serene,sensitive to the ebb and flow,sweetly spellbound.
Then stirring,overcome by gravity, succumbed.And severed, were swept away,carrying the moment in memory sealed.
© Skye Bothma, 2003
About the author
Skye Bothma
Skye is a freelance editor and writer living in rural New Zealand, where she writes about life, love and what it is to be human. She is currently working on her first novel. Visit her website at www.skyebothma.nz
Keep reading
More stories from Skye Bothma and writers in Poets and other communities.
Blue Skies White Clouds
Argentina She sat in a dark room all alone, wondering if he'd ever come home again. She's waited so long. He must be so old, the love they took from her in the middle of that night. She lives in the horror of the empty space that can never be filled again.
By Gerald del Campo2 days ago in Poets
REVIEW: ROLLING STONES - EL MOCAMBO '77
By 1977, the Rolling Stones were in trouble. Their previous albums, It’s Only Rock’n Roll and Black and Blue, did not match the heights of their halcyon run of legendary albums from 1968 to 1973. The loss of Mick Taylor was a tremendous blow to them artistically, and Keith Richards’ drug habit was spiraling out of control and affecting his musical ability. Despite bringing in former Faces guitarist Ron Wood to the fold, the band struggled to match the fireworks of their peak years, and their live shows had become sloppy and lethargic, lacking in the vigor and danger that made their 1971-73 treks among rock’s most celebrated live experiences.
By Anthony Nasti4 days ago in Beat
