Stretching upwards, I strain toward the music's source. {Form: Synchronicity} |
Touching Angels The nascent colors of dawn melt, pooling in a brilliant sky of azure. The mountains call me with whispered voices. Their cold breath condenses in clouds. As I climb, the reflected sun paints heavenly halos in my vision. The exertion leaves me panting as I reach the pinnacle and pause. The solitude is broken by the faint voices of the heavens singing. Stretching upwards, I strain toward the source only to fail and fall backwards. -------------------- Rising from my alabaster bed, I peacefully wait for an answer. Turning, I see that where I fell in the snow's the image of an angel. Notes An entry for day four of "Invalid Item" Prompt: Image Form: "Synchronicity" (The state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. Coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.). This form consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas. Thank you for reading my words. Please, take a moment and leave a comment – your reaction, criticisms, thoughts, yes – even praise – all are equally welcome. Ken |