Days
In cold weather the
Icy mist that cars
Excrete looks just like
Giant, shivering breaths
That, heaving, bring the
Lumbering beast to life, and
On dark nights the
Lights that shine in
Fiery colours blink like
Stars in deepest night
Warming us with dancing
Patterns, but on those
Days where nothing seems
So special, when names are
Nought but names, we see only
The bare carcass, the
Ruins without the dreams
To fill the gaps. Those
Are the days when artists
Hang their heads, and
Cry in shame.
Dabbler.
No comments:
Post a Comment