Poetry

Something faded red

Like whispers at dawn,

an imagined noise,

making one wake, not knowing why,

And drift uneasily back to sleep,

Shrugging off nerves for a creak, 

the croaks of old pipes,

An almost forgotten memory,

Of something faded red, 

and beautifully ended.

I found it when I fell,

Heavy onto broken cornstalks,

A train rattling

somewhere in the dark -

I am tiny,

my knee scraped and bleeding.

I am indestructible

Under a vast silver sky.

Isabelle Grimshaw

© 2014