As the heat subsided
A cool grayness crept in
Exhausted shadows slept
Limp leaves exhaled hope
Open windows inhaled it
A child cannot live in a gray world
It is against everything they believe
They will take that grayness and change it
Add not just any colors
The colors they choose have to be the best
The brightest and most beautiful they can find
With them all grayness is erased
And their world is a more beautiful place
© Poem – XXIV/III/MMXXV
LRET
Years
Years, seasons, past emotional fires, and cloudy loves
Happy times, months of grayness; everything changes
We can not stabilize our existence; we are only mortals
Nothing else
Nothing more
Our End is
The killer knife
Of the Time
Midnight and,
far from my town's bright lights
in darkness of sky, I find solace
in darkness of sky, I seek freedom
I looked at the glittery trail of stars
the satellites moving as if stars are racing
the pleiades looking like a small ursa major
I lay my head on the grass
before fog comes to obscure my view
before it's grayness takes all over me
I look at the stars, spot constellations
Wishing if I could fly through them
wishing if I could go and visit a planet
wishing if a planet that can carry the weight,
the weight of my emotions
the weight that pulls me down on the ground
there's a freedom in the night sky
meant for dreamers, meant for believers
I want to dream, I want to believe
that I will be fine
midnights, and I run away from the town
to seek freedom in the starry night.
The sun has taken a day off,
sleeping in blankets of silver
while the Earth dances a slow pirouette,
like the venerable ballerina she is, on her axis.
I ponder the grayness
while thinking of haiku to pass the time,
wondering of what the sun dreams
during its times of solar slumber.
A rose awakens,
blooming with the kisses of dewdrops
caressing her brow.
The heavens softly weep.
I know not whether for joy or sorrow.
These tears of God are shed this morning,
but the land and I are cleansed and nourished.
The fabric of the sky is rent
by sudden streaks of violence
that shatter the peace of my reverie
and threaten to unsettle my soul.
Sabers of lightning
duel throughout the morning
to sate their anger.
Their fury sends fear to my heart’s threshold,
but it finds the door safely barred
by the still waters of the Spirit’s serenity,
keeping me untouched by disquietude.
I find lullabies in the thunder,
and the sleep of newborns follows
into a realm where the storm dissolves
within the calmness of God.
The bright garden has been dead for a while,
This life is as cold as November.
I'm not worried about myself now,
I'm thinking about children over.
I thought for a day when I was young,
I have lost opportunities transferred.
Like a drop from a grape on the sand,
Even my smile has disappeared.
I am saddened by the grayness of time,
I'm tired of seeing the horrors of man.
Gray days as a horrible lifeline,
I'm tired of seeing gray days then.
Yes, life is cold like winter migration,
But he can't scare a brave person.
It warms my chest with irritation,
My homeland, my country, my land, my son!
They confiscated the paradox; they called it unlawful,
Carving the truth to the desired measure,
Shaming the threat and killing the unworthy.
But for years in the grayness created with blood,
Years of inhaling toxic facades and consuming revolts,
He brought jewels to her feet and worshiped
The same idea and image that everyone hated.
In a world of shadows, where words are cut,
And thoughts are shaped like clay,
Truth hides under veils of silence,
While dreams are hunted like prey in the night.
We try to see through the cracks of reality,
To find sparks of light in the dense darkness,
But the paradox, that divine gift, slips through our fingers,
In a world that prefers the silence of comfortable lies.
And yet, in our depths, we know that truth,
Though carved and mutilated, continues to breathe,
A small but unyielding flame that burns,
In the hearts of those who still dare to dream.
wishing for snow
Light grayness of the sky brings a needed coolness
Sprinkle of snow gives me a preview of November.
I yearn for more, loving the frostiness of December.
november gray sky
a startling frostiness
Under flaming intimate heartbeat
Rhythm of the descent moon's sight
Velvet twilight grayness vision of night.
Still-life far away from the nearest street
Under the limbs of a tall hollow reject abstract
Flickering shadows dance lack
Weary Wounded Sigh,
Hard soil suppressed deeper.
Tiredness of digging undulation,
Hunted near extinction for an acceptation
Of the dying soul beacon scripture.
3/28/2024
Evening
(Tense late calm)
Late vigilance, evening colors, everything quiet, dead, rigid,
Many of my memories disappeared, the day took them far away, they disappeared into grayness,
Now I'm standing here, looking at the landscape, Master is watching, he perceives my desire, my soul,
… I ponder, I stare at the seemingly dying distance…
He sees that I'm brooding and says, that's good, you're waking up now,
Let's go, you and I, and discover this being, the light in the darkness,
Come, hurry, a few hours and the morning will come, and by then everything may seem
... And the mystery, the metaphysical life, which is undying... will be undiscovered.
Light in the darkness? I wonder how, and how this is possible?
Perhaps rather the infinite nothingness in the darkness.
That's right, the answer came to my mind. Life is still bright,
… if it spreads in the endless and empty dark depths…
A mist of grey enters through the gate,
stealing color from the rose.
The leaves and skies a darker shade
when invited to enter its gloom.
The tears one sheds, welcome malaise,
and raindrops against the window.
Memories of smiles and sunlit days lost,
squandered on the mental rain.
In long-ago days, melancholy was thought
a somewhat bitter charm.
Young girls, distraught behind their fans,
found fragility's aura within its arms.
A weighty mist, its sadness no longer sought
Its medical term is Depression
a psychological, genetic, medical condition.
Time passes slowly until melancholy ebbs and then leaves.
Too soon, it will return to those who wait.
May 8, 2023
for "Anatomy of Melancholy" poetry contest
by Craig Cornish
cloudless rising sun
all grayness of dawn hiding
into the shadows
Seconds turn into days
Days turn into months
So on and on the clock turns
Step by step
Forever searching
Peace be still
My hearts yearns for truth
Step by Step
Where can I find you
Walk in the grayness
Mountain and valleys
Step by step
Closer and closer to the touch
Facing all fears
Beacon of light
Step by step
Never looking back
Forward becomes growth
Joy in the becoming
Step by step
by: DebraM.Falgout
city of increasing fervor
heavy with sealed glass windows
in vaulted towers
sky-high protection
from the steady spew of cars
urban sidewalks in the
private grayness of fall
where sparrows
in a small
rush of flutter
(like a jailbreak)
peck at specks of
discarded rice
paths of commonality
in people spaces of
rapid trudging
that re-jigs
cellphone foot work
a jump at impulse
birds of an all forgiving grace
hop on concrete
beyond appearance
messy
to seize
the refuge of home
Poem composed January 18, 2023
There walks warriors in that graveyard,
holy men and medicine women of ages.
at night you can see their spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snowdrifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her lifeless body,
down rivers and streams of remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight and burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers
in a dead winter of the unborn,
page 49 in a family album
and a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance, the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one,
the woman and the child.
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