Taken Nov. 16, 2005a cold, grey breeze must sing outside on this late august day.
No promise of a walk, or being able to play
Amidst the dull, warm sunshine that so avidly does hide
With the bright blue behind the greys and whites.
Sing, strong breeze, that blows through those trees,
And kerfuffles their leaves so.
Tell me what you see, within this blackened city,
That makes your proud heart low.
What do you desire, bittersweet and so dire;
Such a thing that could turn your mind askew?
So incomplete, you do not know what to do?
That even if you told me, i could do not a thing to help you?
What is it that you see, beyond, in that country
That dominates this withered estate
Of thick skies and dull blue eyes
Who no longer feel their own pain?
I must try to take myself away by will of imagination
To a place of much better and less under the weather
Faces of adoration.
For what is more true than skies that are blue
Who whistle softly atop the greens?
And what is more free than freedom herself
Who frollicks on land and in sea?
So be ordained no more to think to contain
Yourself within the walls of loss.
For there is nothing more pained than a heart in a strain
And then suddenly released to shock.
These days pass by with a wimper and a cry
Just like last year around this time.
So automatic, so contorted, just like static;
Nights turn into day, and the days flow on, just like a play
That has been rehearsed a time too many; nervous and frantic.
For i know what comes next, and then after that, at best;
But my future is still complete haze.
For nothing is as plain, as simplicit and ordained
Than these grey and breezy late August days.
written Aug. 21, 2007
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