The Earth was flushed,

Blue shards cut through ample branches,

I sit wrapped in knotted roots,

Brittle amber leaves smell like pages

Like the dust that collects on library shelves,

The bark crinkles against my back,

As if the laminated spine had sprouted from the ground,

Coils of wind carefully turn the pages,

And leaves flutter to the damp moss,

Branches separate the heavens from Earth,

Ground swells, red flannels flutter into the sky,

Letters are etched with Cold Steel,

So I stand, brush the vines from my ribcage,

Button up my jacket and head for the road,

With my book tucked underarm,

My bookmark: a leaf.

Hello all, I'm a lowly college student attempting to put my art out into the world. Poetry isn't my strong suite, but I'm working to enhance it and spread my feild of knowledge. I am a lover of fiction and fantasy, and have dabbled myself in such. If you are willing to read and review my work, I will do the same for you. 

Best- Hazelink

She was shaking on the floor with her head hung in her hands. I felt useless. The walls bent in towards her trembling back and the only thing I knew how to do was to crouch beside her and lace my arm around her. I could feel her bones quaking. When she lifted her head, her cheeks were rubbed with blue. Like her fingers were blue crayons. Blue lines of melted blue wax dripped down her face. And it was all over my shirt from where she clung to me, and on my palms, and some had dripped onto my jeans. She was mumbling now but I was staring at the blue. I wanted to help her, but I wanted to get rid of it. Because if it stains I will have to explain myself to the devil and I can see him now, sitting on a fiery throne with smoke blowing out as he laughs and says, “man what’s with the blue.” I don’t know, she was crying, I guess.