musings and riddles

poetry by f. s. navratil

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for love.

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restless

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saint katherine's hill

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heroically

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i choke with spring

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white yarrow

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april

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a march to remedy.

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[fsnavratil]

chipped nails and curled lashes in a crackling cage at the carnival. excuse my sore knuckles, this absent minded interval; the pen tearing page. reverie or retrospect or a longing for conflict, the world may never know. standing alone with sore feet is my way of accepting (inviting) defeat. picture me a picturesque scene with trees of burgundy and clouds of green, a beam of light almost there, almost unseen. it’s where i would like to be. but the crackling cage at the carnival is my home, so i must sit on my throne made of ash, mud, and bone.

//f.s. navratil

[fsnavratil]

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talking in circles

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//fs navratil//