Dyed

Dyed

clad in snow and ice, crowned a blaze
I watch her face, as the flay crosses
the falls usher forth, terror encroaches
the lady butchered, rags and bone dyed
at the crimson pond, I tear at my eyes
I fear the darkest, void of her light
those bright, crystal caves die.

12/29/25

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Andy McRae

I have been writing poetry for the last 13 years. It all started as an assignment for a creative writing course. I never thought I would like writing, as I am dyslexic and language was always a struggle for me, but I fell in love with the art form in that class.

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