Etch in me the feathers that fall 

Like leaves from a tree and down with it all

When rosebuds cake from the caverns of my throat 

And well up in my chest, my breath to gloat

And to my lungs, my blood runs black

Past every rung that defines my back

Swathe in me the old honey-wine,

The red-ridged rivers of roseblood and thyme

Whereby one day those dull paradisic dreams

Can go to Hell with those old sadistic fiends

And as for those romantic little plots

Who are put foot to the fire to slowly rot

One might say it was the flash of the sky

Through a lightning rod, fire spit on high

There goes the forsaken love that lies

To rest in dreams wherein the will dies


Photo Credit:

Paige Heaney

Written by

Paige Heaney

Paige Heaney, sophomore, has loved creative writing since she was very young. Her works primarily take form in poems or fiction. A blank piece of paper is like an untouched canvas to her, where she depicts vivid images with words instead of drawings. She also enjoys reading, especially S.E. Hinton’s books such as The Outsiders and Rumble Fish. Aside from reading and writing, Paige loves making memories with her friends and family.