a new song

Sadness can always be fixed with a jazz rift that teeters on the left edge

A blink, he said, was all it took before she became mist

Rain often turns to snow when we close our eyes to senses

He offered her an olive branch but she preferred flowers, not fruit

Ice glazed over the rusted chain still secured to a now tireless ride

She sighed when a dozen pink petals spilled out of his letter

Smoke danced in swirled rhythms with each bus passing

He stared into the yellow lights of the passing midnight car

Thunder softened the blow

She no longer knew where she would go

White blanketed the dirty streets in crystalline innocence

Somewhere she was sleeping, he wondered if alone

Dawn spread slowly, pinking a tired city

She turned, pained, toward the sun

A morning dove above her broke the silence of winter

Perhaps, in Spring, a new song ~

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments

  1. I like this, it has a trippy feel for it. I like things that are not what they first appear as conceived by the senses.

    Reply
    • Perhaps this is why you continue to read this blog, Ste J, for things are never what they first appear… always appreciate your insight! ~ a

      Reply

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