Written for JD Mader's 2minutesgo writing site. Head over if you're feeling creative :)
Fields
Pages slashed into pieces of green,
Verdant patches of guilt stitched,
Where even the owl lies diagonal,
Stretching out brown wheat wings,
Gusts of feathers eroded in crop circles.
Lines part and reunite in dust.
Blue skies crease, scowling
On hidden pathways etched.
Glass cracks dance as ice people,
Interspersed by light so bright it blinds
Where mountains soar in monochrome.
Everything floats here, losing the innate,
And even the lines between are evaporating.
We live in spaces already carved by figurines,
Sculptures dumb walking pages long torn,
Reorganised into a mirror of something new.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 21, 2019
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