Flaxen Tassels

(Probably sounds like I've built this poem round the rhymes. So yes, I know, but no, I didn't.)

 

Flaxen tassels

Trailing behind

Her waxen feet,

All cold,

Though friction’s heat

Burns in you,

And makes you trail

After her braided footsteps

And the ashen flowers

Beneath her feet.

If you follow the leader,

Follow her true.

Step on her, she’ll step on you.

A tapestry of flowing blue,

She turns to ice

And drowns you.

Pull on her, she’ll pull on you,

And no yarn she’ll give

For your pains.

Her pain’s gone,

While yours holds strong.

But not for long.

Though needle and thread

Take her a step ahead,

She’s not patched up

With stick and glue.

Not only you

Say you are true

With stick and glue,

But who is who?

She’ll spin a trail

Of dying roses,

But no petals will she touch

For you to hold,

For she is cold,

And flowers do not grow

Near icy waters,

To which you go,

Tracing a thread

That is not there.

The End

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