Poem: Dyeing

Poem: Dyeing

Alexander Maxwell

 

Orange dye seeps into the morning sky
a gradient hue entering the sombre blue
liquid dew, clinging upon the screen
care instructions instilled, what I must do?

the muffled chirp of early natures song
obscure grey lines spill within the quiet room
rinsing away the fabric of the deepest colour
climbing and bending up the vertical walls

stained, I lie below my dispersing night skin
packaged and prep’d for automatic repetition
my mountain lies ahead, mapped, stretched
and measured by slow ticking hands

present crushed between the hopeful future
and the buried, wilting daisy past
the scent of decay smelt within the heart
who am I? what could I have been?

nostalgia creeps like ghostly fog
bills to pay, to slave my existence
addicted, to surround myself
to keep insanity, thoroughly at bay

the weight and height, and class
directs the fabric to its specific bath
looking to achieve a creative effect
being bleached and spotted, by neglect

 
Copyright Alexander Maxwell 2015

Alexander Maxwell