The Red Scarf

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A red scarf flies through the sky..there can't possibly be anything exciting about that. Or can there be...?

Submitted: July 15, 2017

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Submitted: July 15, 2017

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 Skin of my summer-kissed body, engulfed by the crevasses amongst the fields’ green army.
The sky captured in suspension above me scrutinized my thoughts and desires for it to host a waltz between its birds and floating blossoms.
And like the magic before midnight, the azure-lit theatrical found its’ lead performer:
A red scarf, streaming like a crimson paint drop across a blank canvas.
Fibrils diffused out drops of intoxication that soaked my soul as I darted across the green.

 Entwining with bouquets of clouds as the scarf glided on a path with no direction,
My inner palpitating drum was begging for the finale of this breathtaking show.
At last, the song of the wind mellowed as its’ rhythm succumbed to the beat of the city,
And the scarf willingly fell to the unknowingly open arms of a stranger,
A frail woman resting in the beauty of eighty.
She awed in sight of the beautiful fabric that had fallen on her arm.

I curiously watched and wondered at what this pairing might behold,
Just as a smile began crawling from the horizons upon her face.
With her aged hands the woman scooped a handful of golden grains from her pocket,
And with her everlasting youth of voice, broke into melodies of Snow White.
Flocks of birds beckoned by the sound of her call, cascaded from the sky,
And a constellation of gold showered them as the scarf was released back on its’ journey.

As graciously and swiftly as a trill on a piano the scarf ventured above my running spirit,
And as if listening to my breathlessness it started to float further to the ground.
It caught the tiara of a kindergarten princess perusing under industrial silhouettes,
 An enchanting silk stare adorned by the laugh of innocence greeted my eyes.
 The princess’s skip began conducting the dance of red that flowed behind,
But amongst the dips and twirl, the crimson cape took flight once more.

I wondered where my companion would take me, what soul awaits its’ blessed silk touch.
But it did not fly far across its’ blue canvas, the scarf did not stray far from my eyes,
Intimately it collided with the piercing branch of an oak tree, sweetly it rustled its leaves.
Melancholic that my journey had ended, my spirit was soon ignited by a bright flame,
Yellow as the fields, was a scarf hanging loose nearby, awaiting its’ waltz with the wind.
Lightly it fell to my waiting hand and again my journey begins...


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