viridescent

skies

reflect

in your

eyes

to Evening’s

last light

we bid

our

goodbyes

with

evergreen

souls and

honeydew

sighs,

to Night

we hum

liquid

emerald

lullabies

Under a bruised sky

inhibitions crashed in like the tide,

solace shattered, swept asunder by

the biting undertow.

Starving strides will never be wide enough

to carry me fast enough

to someplace far enough

beyond the reaches of this pain.

A golden mind in chains.

Under a denim sky, vagrant hearts

sew patches into its girth.

Condemned by the world from birth

to wander all alone.

To shift about like sentient smoke,

as those they pass cough and choke.

This is not our revenge.

It’s just the debt we’ve been taught

to owe.

Under a soft flannel sky, rife with starlit holes,

a draft creeps through and bathes us

in this defining cold

that sinks straight to the bone.

When life-force then corrodes

and pours us out, beyond the bruises

of the sky,

we rise to meet

a destiny more kind.

Our forever home.

#fiction, #poetry

Indigo dusks

seep

into apricot dawns

azure skies

drip

into tourquoise

seas

A gradation of colour

brushed across the sky

A canvas of colour

blends before your eyes.

a

fleeting

whisper of

autumn

creeps

in

wisps

of grey

unkept

promises

of rain

it's a

lie

that

the

scorching

rays of

sun

have gone

to sleep

they will

return

but for

now

i

can't

help

but

gaze

lovingly

at

this

illusion

I can sense it

before my eyes

look towards the heavens

their shadows

wrapping around my ankles,

chaining me to the ground

with an unseen weight

the sun remains hidden

behind the overpowering clouds,

its face looking

for any sign of an opening

the color of the sky

reflects onto my face

the same mellow blue

over my shoulders

rests a cold blanket,

that wraps me in its

lonely embrace

when dark clouds loom

it sometimes feels

as though they had never left

we were under some sun-infused evening

when he said he was color blind

and can’t see the shades of the clouds

the refracted sunlight

a different vision of splendor altogether

a pink cotton candy that approaches my retinas

quietly, is for him an orange

hue that means we aren’t seeing the same light

if sunlight touches us differently

what do our interpretations of color mean

his clouds an orange cotton candy i can’t see

Today was clear, crisp as the leaves that skirl in the street, caught in invisible eddies. The sunset did not deign to stay for long without clouds overhead to catch its glow and rim the horizon in fire. Instead comes the bluing, the sky glowing behind bare branches. Twilight comes, comfortable in the autumn air, regent of the time between. After the sun but before the moon, the entire sky seems as glass before a candle, a surreal blue. During the bluing anything is possible, as the world plays by the in-between rules and prepares to greet night, and the sky shines richly overhead.

A bedouin like I when I gaze at the sky

I find therein my father

With glints of stars passing by

But beyond that just behind

Of the clouds you will find

The shades of emotions

That are timeless through time

A cherry tint at dawn

With dew that has drawn

From perches of lantern hilts

Where moths slumber in their quilts

A purple hue near the night

When the birds cease their flight

A tangy ripe in the noon

When the sun greets the moon

A terrible tan at times

When there is sand in my eyes

Roaring with the dunes

Forging unearthly tunes

An unfathomable grey

At times of moist and mist

When prayer chants advance

Seeking a calm rain dance

In the month of July

With father, my sky

I narrate to you all this

As the rain clouds pass me by

I think I should have let the little tornados suck me up into the sky with the leaves. It was a strange afternoon to meet someone new for dinner, I admit in hindsight. Although it is a testament to our engagement in the conversation that we didn't notice what was happening around our small green picnic table.

As we walked back, I pointed up at the sky in surprise.

It was a startling and unnatural red, combining a sunset orange with a strong rust red that seemed more at home on mars or in an apocalypse. The wind was whipping past ominously, promising of a storm to come. I looked back the way we had come, and the burning sky transitioned into a bruised, brooding purple, the color of nursed resentment and vengeance to come. Beyond that, a mass of black storm clouds hung heavy and low to the ground, ominously making their way across the sky. The fire was ready to meet the storm, and the battle lines were quiet with anticipation.

I learned soon after that the forests had been burning, all the way across the country in California. How fitting for such a year. Maybe the sky really was depicting apocalypse. Two sides fighting to see which would be the final judgement of inconsiderate caretakers. So I'll amend my statement.

It was the perfect afternoon to meet someone new for dinner.