Carmine, crimson, colours red,
Across the floor they swell and spread,
Like surging waves they overtake,
Forming ruts within their wake.
Grains of sand are drawn to sea,
In clumps of one, now two, then three,
Like us, they fall and separate,
Pawns upon Misfortune’s plate.
Smothered in his rank cologne,
Cold hands bring forth the dark unknown,
What once were grains within the sand,
Left as rocks too weak to stand.
All Misfortune does is take,
Established in the sanguine wake,
Indulging on one simple thread,
Tied within deep seas of red.
—kayla walker
Flommist Kayla Walker is just a simple poet who is fascinated by rhyme, using it as a voice to speak for the girl lost in her own mind. Copyright © 2016 Kayla Walker. Pictured: Flommist Composition No.19 (cropped), from FLOMM! THE BATTLE For MODeRN 1923.
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