Here is a selection of words to be rearranged and adapted. My poem follows, a cadralor.
Empty vase on the shelf,
collecting dust and dead bluebottles,
remembers the days
when she filled it with flowers.
Letters on the mat are ominous
these days, no one runs downstairs
heart pounding, at the sound
of the clatter of the letterbox.
I never let you in, never listened,
when you promised you would always stay,
too afraid that you would leave, to look
deep enough, to where the truth lay.
It tastes of rain and sunshine,
salt breeze and clouds dashing across water.
It tastes, smells, and I can see it,
but never catch its shadow.
The wind rises too high for comfort,
trees groan, crack, but here, within these walls,
a smile, a certain look, is armour enough
against the flying debris of dead things.