Spiralling Down
Walking backwards we follow Your trail of malevolence. Random doodles scrawled across the Loose soil lead us back to your nest, Where empty sacs of
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Walking backwards we follow Your trail of malevolence. Random doodles scrawled across the Loose soil lead us back to your nest, Where empty sacs of
Once they roamed across the plains like gods, Their gigantic frames drowning out the sun As they paraded in quiet contemplation. Jealous of their size
Beneath the shimmering surface of the sea Lie tiny specks of hope, Inconsequential fragments of life That work tirelessly to remove The years of smut
A continent of purest blue begins to flow, an unstoppable force That spills towards the sea in cinematic slow motion. Pristine shades of sapphires that
You slide fluently through cool, coastal waters, A balletic grace with unparalleled force That silently slips between the spheres As a distant rumble announces time.
A dynasty of diamonds in the sky, You stretch beyond the hemispheres of sight Scattering stardust like lavish silt as Unseen tidal forces conspire to
An incendiary flash of colour – Your violent hues scatter the scrub; We watch as you forage for food, Using your casque like a fork.