{By Izabel Colton}
The dandelion bleeds in fall,
Just as bleed, do waterfalls.
In tandem with the ocean springs,
The pale ghost would spread its wings-
And to it breathes another deep,
To saints whom humans bow their feet,
Upon the soft green lap of life,
A knife lays still in all its strife.
That dandelion, gone with one-
Breath of the ghost will taunt the sun,
Love for art, a human vow,
A sorrowed state, a ghastly howl.
Yet simple act the ghost could bear,
Its face a weeping of despair.
O’ angel sing thy pious songs,
Now does the save outweigh the wrong?
Izabel Colton
I started writing as a way to express what was in my mind, as I was never able to verbally. Writing freed a part of me that I didn’t even know that I had, and since then I have had the pleasure to be published in various magazine issues, and allow my voice to be heard in its truest form.
