Under a bruised sky
inhibitions crashed in like the tide,
solace shattered, swept asunder by
the biting undertow.
Starving strides will never be wide enough
to carry me fast enough
to someplace far enough
beyond the reaches of this pain.
A golden mind in chains.
Under a denim sky, vagrant hearts
sew patches into its girth.
Condemned by the world from birth
to wander all alone.
To shift about like sentient smoke,
as those they pass cough and choke.
This is not our revenge.
It’s just the debt we’ve been taught
Under a soft flannel sky, rife with starlit holes,
a draft creeps through and bathes us
in this defining cold
that sinks straight to the bone.
When life-force then corrodes
and pours us out, beyond the bruises
of the sky,
we rise to meet
a destiny more kind.
Our forever home.
when dark clouds loom
I can sense it
before my eyes
look towards the heavens
wrapping around my ankles,
chaining me to the ground
with an unseen weight
the sun remains hidden
behind the overpowering clouds,
its face looking
for any sign of an opening
the color of the sky
reflects onto my face
the same mellow blue
over my shoulders
rests a cold blanket,
that wraps me in its
when dark clouds loom
it sometimes feels
as though they had never left
a shade we can’t communicate
we were under some sun-infused evening
when he said he was color blind
and can’t see the shades of the clouds
the refracted sunlight
a different vision of splendor altogether
a pink cotton candy that approaches my retinas
quietly, is for him an orange
hue that means we aren’t seeing the same light
if sunlight touches us differently
what do our interpretations of color mean
his clouds an orange cotton candy i can’t see
Today was clear, crisp as the leaves that skirl in the street, caught in invisible eddies. The sunset did not deign to stay for long without clouds overhead to catch its glow and rim the horizon in fire. Instead comes the bluing, the sky glowing behind bare branches. Twilight comes, comfortable in the autumn air, regent of the time between. After the sun but before the moon, the entire sky seems as glass before a candle, a surreal blue. During the bluing anything is possible, as the world plays by the in-between rules and prepares to greet night, and the sky shines richly overhead.
Father, my sky
A bedouin like I when I gaze at the sky
I find therein my father
With glints of stars passing by
But beyond that just behind
Of the clouds you will find
The shades of emotions
That are timeless through time
A cherry tint at dawn
With dew that has drawn
From perches of lantern hilts
Where moths slumber in their quilts
A purple hue near the night
When the birds cease their flight
A tangy ripe in the noon
When the sun greets the moon
A terrible tan at times
When there is sand in my eyes
Roaring with the dunes
Forging unearthly tunes
An unfathomable grey
At times of moist and mist
When prayer chants advance
Seeking a calm rain dance
In the month of July
With father, my sky
I narrate to you all this
As the rain clouds pass me by
A perfect afternoon
I think I should have let the little tornados suck me up into the sky with the leaves. It was a strange afternoon to meet someone new for dinner, I admit in hindsight. Although it is a testament to our engagement in the conversation that we didn't notice what was happening around our small green picnic table.
As we walked back, I pointed up at the sky in surprise.
It was a startling and unnatural red, combining a sunset orange with a strong rust red that seemed more at home on mars or in an apocalypse. The wind was whipping past ominously, promising of a storm to come. I looked back the way we had come, and the burning sky transitioned into a bruised, brooding purple, the color of nursed resentment and vengeance to come. Beyond that, a mass of black storm clouds hung heavy and low to the ground, ominously making their way across the sky. The fire was ready to meet the storm, and the battle lines were quiet with anticipation.
I learned soon after that the forests had been burning, all the way across the country in California. How fitting for such a year. Maybe the sky really was depicting apocalypse. Two sides fighting to see which would be the final judgement of inconsiderate caretakers. So I'll amend my statement.
It was the perfect afternoon to meet someone new for dinner.