Winter shades and pacific blue;
Quantities of endless string
wrapped in this reality true
to only the eyes.
They are avian disks, floating,
in the summer sky
wondering when
the eclipse will come.
But the concavity lies.
There is light elsewhere;
on shell white walls
and wasted papers, sown
into verity,
but not here, where I lie.
What do you think?
Comments
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I couldn't understand this one but it's written beautifully, like you always have written.
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Interesting poem you have here Arty.
I like the flow of this piece
Blends all nicely together
NS
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