cold weather plays outside my
door like summer children,
thoughts are obscure and random
offering pleas of insanity for
their late arrival and shortcomings;
life exists at the edge of a dream
that is not well manifested,
clues fall like leaves in the winter
as the cold romps outside my door;
the rain falls endlessly... on...
on new sewn grass seeds
in mind displays of power,
the grass wants to grow in response,
but doesn't -- just like the flowers
deadness surrounds me as
the cold dances outside my door;
morning light is diminished
the clouds have all but disappeared
only the solid grey colors of a funeral
remain above our heads as if the
heavens as ashamed of our performance,
the dark clouds of an early winter
cross my mind like sinister elves
running through the minds of tomorrow
in in effort to ruin our todays.
30 November 2020
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