Poetry

Prince of Atlantis

Leaves are plucked

And sown like dust, light and free,

The colour of cinnamon,

Hazel and cherry,

Sprinkled were the water laps,

Smooth and blue,

Against the setting sun.

A sky aflame, bloodshot,

Clouds blushing scarlet overhead,

Dyeing the island and its long, lost city,

The colour of wine.

His hair grows fierce like the sun;

Fallen leaves press upon his skin

Turning pale like the sand.

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