upon my shyness, winter’s bust
sails the moon-eye
with an apparition garden,
I gather by the inglenook;
I’m a hermit,
I billow poetries dark, in the first tree
that would seem to think
I am all these things,
truly, I’m not.
© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a quadrille that includes the word, inglenook.
This is more of me expressing something a little personal. Being as I write dark poetry, some assumptions throughout this past year have been made that include my mental health or mental state. I thank anyone who has expressed their concerns to me germane to that, but it saddens me greatly. This is just a poem that lets me blow off some steam, since I never really write about myself anyway.
Thank you for reading and letting me ramble. I appreciate it.