Poetry
The Fallen Paradise by Caroline Harris

I.

Gather in the twilight dusk

A collection of trampled leaves and grass underfoot

The crisp scent of pine hanging in the air.

 

Follow the iridescent blue jay

Whose wings are a majestic cape
Of star-studded sapphire

Weaving through a canopy of green.

 

II.

Discover the meadow of broken dreams

Where dreamers lay down their heads to rest

In a sea of shattered sea glass

That glints and cries in the moonlight

Forming an ocean of melancholy tears.
Beneath the roaring canvas of night

Imagination comes to die

Fading stars and hibiscus flowers

Chasing each other in the moonlight.

 

III.

As the world around you shatters

Close your eyes

in an eternal slumber

With only the wind in the willows

To mend your broken heart.

Caroline Harris

Caroline Harris is currently a sophomore at Castilleja School in Silicon Valley, California. Her writing stems from a deep-set fascination with the subtle nuances of the English language. An accomplished musician and aspiring writer, Caroline’s extensive travels and overseas experiences inspire much of her work. Her interests range from skiing to public forum debate to piano and chorus, and her love of language carries her through her daily life. She particularly enjoys poetry and flash fiction, and attended the Interlochen Academy of Fine Arts over the summer in order to further these interests. Caroline reads and writes religiously with the hope of publishing a literary collection one day.
  1. Well, at least you offer the possibility of a broken heart being mended!
    Some interesting images, Caroline, thanks!
    The idea of imagination coming to die is more than a little bit distressing, and I think I encountered some of that feeling two weeks ago in Xian, China, where I went with my wife and two sons to take in the famous terra cotta warriors (buried for over two thousand years, gradually being unearthed). On the day we visited we were surrounded by a nasty smog that reduced the midday sun to a pale orange disc overhead and forced us to don nose/mouth filters. To tour the archeological site, surrounded by foul air, was to witness a paradise beginning to fall. Let’s hope we can stop it! Somehow…..
    Allen Scheuch, Brooklyn, NY