“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Color transfusion
September, said the sky
stirring the air into a bitter frenzy.
With tension
teeth bared, her clouds growl while
making steel eyes squint back
for clarity between greys.
A breath of earth seeking rain.
Pastels all put away,
slate carries excess white,
backing black and blue up-
on sun less days.
The sky fell into our lap,
sobbing at her reflection.
Autumn yellow goes red
where the seasons bled
(out).
Painting by Johan Christian Dahl [Public domain], Cloud Study over flat landscape (1837) via Wikimedia Commons.
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