Submitted by Hannah D. on Sat, 07/12/2014 - 22:29

when peace of mind
(like an angel's tread)
goes fluttering by
(like the morning mist)
and orchid blossoms
on marble stone
(purple and orange,
with sea foam)

is gone, with all
the rush of days:
yellow buses
in a smoggy haze,
a calling lost to pencils,
a world lost to maps;
just whose idea
was this?
what kind of rose

all there is to do
is step across
the chasm, its height
threatening loss,
the horizon stretching out,
torn pages floating by
(like incandescent wings
of a dragonfly)

and now, a flash
of desert sand,
a long blue skirt,
a small soft hand,
endless weeds,
a smile and a please,
long loud days -
what is peace?

Author's age when written


I LOVE THIS. I'm going to read this again. It was so pleasant and the rhythm done really well. I love how you do the parentheses and describe little things so beautifully. Reading this I could almost see all the colors.

"It is not the length of life, but the depth of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson