School: James Gillespie’s High School, Edinburgh
His eyes piercing mahogany
standing like a light house in a storm.
A sheaf of hay flying in the wind.
On his chin, red autumnal leaves
decay from his frosted November skin.
The loud harsh voice,
the bold beautiful paints
drown, disappearing like a sunset
in a lover’s gaze.
Disappearing over a horizon
frozen on a canvas.