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Becca |
of the pleasing drone of spinning fans
summer storms rage in glorious fury
cascading drops shimmer
strawberry scents unexpectedly waft
a sense of impending change lingers
an image barely grasped
obscured before it could be described
a sigh inaudible
an echo thrown
the brilliant sunset hues are mine
i wrap them about my half-formed dreams
fashioned of soft luminescence
glints of sorrow assault my eyes
the silence speaks more than a chorus
haunted by the twilight
flakes of hope collect at my feet
Labels: Becca
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