“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Chalk
Green, oh so serene,
awash in heart
and yellow glow,
gentle evening strength
And absorb
the black smoke
and fireballs like shooting stars
hurled in my direction
observing
the energy, only-
I scoff-a slip-and then correct
my posture-composure-and breath
from inside the top of my
skull, I wait,
presently
for revelation
to show
nothing is real
but the indigo
I know.
Photo credited by Ross Burgener 2013 [Public domain].
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