Every now and then the world above
Morphs into a dull monochrome of silver,
Reflecting a fathomless white-grey void,
Wiped out of all spirit and soul.
A work of Southwest winds,
Leaving their imprint behind,
Before going off for a long journey too far.
A calmness settled just on surface,
Yet a sense of turbulence at the core.
Arid paranoma stretching limitless,
Ongoing without an onset,
With no hope for its finis.
An emptiness of such depth,
Resonating a lifeless gloom,
Washes away all colours of being
From the realm underneath.
Until a collective sigh is released,
Like a breath blown atop,
Inhaled by the expanse overhead;
As in an impulse overtakes,
Returning the zest and zing above,
That peculiar clouds can only offer.
The gliding of wings boosting the gusto.
Like a curtain pulled up within a blink of eye,
In such a way does the argentine fade,
That sapphire unfurls and disperses,
Till every minute stretch of compass is filled
Of its hue, making the world below wonder,
If the one above was ever a different shade.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
