Trees waver to the cool wind. Swaying with no agency to be. Quiet tears fall from broken hearts, sheets hold the lonesome. An empty glass stained in lips of red. Sour aroma lingers from the mouth.
Rain tumbles with urgency to flood what begs to hold. Washing away dusted cheeks; hesitation to step out grasps the flesh. Eyes interpret the morning view. Hazed in a daze of last nights time. Lethargic tones whisper among the head.
Clouds cover the blue, rejecting the season to be new. Gloom disperses the sun, leaving minds numb in hope with empty rhythm. The carrying of pollen leaving septum's to run. Insects victim to the spectrum of predator tongue.
Asylum lost in the changing of weather. A chaotic idiom of misery and love. Fickle criticism of existence spun in the webs of minds. Falling warmth stolen from cold, frozen walks to the hurry of time.
A red rose ignored but kissed by the buzzing of a bee. An ecosystem of many ribbed chasms. Happy mingling in the springing of eight hours passing. A light house at the edge, flourishing light casts upon stones.
Damp streets and spinning rubber. A thousand reasons to end, but the cycle keeps it going.
A morning to come,
A day to pass.
And an evening to sleep.
Thank you for reading!
What is your interpretation of what I created?
More poetic imagery can be found in, A Man's Traveled Heart
(Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words)
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