in grey, one day they paved the world denying even their place within and yet in green with stems that furled from gaps between to break the chains that bound the earth the plants regained that which man had sought to tame.
it is imagined artifice ivory bolts of pigment scratched upon a shadowed sky a storm, the midst of which “strange seas of thought” in doldrum or in tumult caught are on a tired browline etched as were so many squalls and cries over a lifetime sketched.
these lines betray ceremony a composition’s liturgy which determines if these words are ever to be heard or if the page in time will burn discarded but should they form a poetry of these emotions known to me then the rite of how I write will find its rhyme and remain unto the world imparted.
I thought of something else today, not the background which forms in every way the forefront of my imaginings I thought of something new today, an unfamiliar intent that will in time’s play recess, no doubt, to behind the scenes of the next and newest dreams that may tomorrow come.
it is a scented memory as blossom on the cherry tree, that flush of first desire shy youthfulness afire though it the briefest moments sways as is the blossom making way for with its dying in the May comes the sweetest fruit.