Posts Tagged ‘gray’

What is life without

Splendor of the Sun?

If only gray skies

preside, what can be done?

Something gray and infectious

has fallen into human throats.


Caught by veins,

those catcher’s mitts, those tiny roots,


and carried around

like dandruff.


Sir, your eyes are bloodshot!

Sir, you’re retching like a hurricane!


Sir! The sun’s been stopped

in the sky!


The clouds are hoarding

its light!


What a meteoric fall

man’s dug himself into.


Whether he’ll live to see

if the sun scorches through


those bandages of clouds is another thing.

For now,


only the willow’s tendrils move-

the trunk, a headstone.

Windless stillness,


Sunlight slices through

dense clumps of silver.

Light perforated

only by gray, almost transparent

shadows- long and thin

shadows of trees.

The earth is wearing out its

white play-clothes.

They have gravel stains,

dirt stains,

and the beating heart

of its grasses is turning

as it enters REM sleep.

Earth is dreaming of when

she will burst from the womb,

naked and beautiful,

and will grow its emerald hair


And will decorate itself in jewels of color-


and leaves.

The whole world is a grey area

where people,

both certain and uncertain,

search for Truth.

But when one thinks they find it,

a fellow explorer presents new evidence

which justifies something else.

Then a battle commences.

Among the daily rush and tumult

of cars that clatter like distant trains,

I remember, clearly,

that stretch of asphalt leading into the city:

Gray as stone the road grows

into the land of skyscrapers.

It isn’t Detroit, Chicago, Hollywood, or New York,

but it is not terribly small or unknown.

The hazy gray freeway

rushes past like wind

from behind the car window.

There is the gateway to one possible future.

The entrance ramps align, flat as anvils,

forming a solid horizon.

Here is the city I have come to know as my grandparents’.

We even have our own little square.

I see the spotlight that calls to me.

Perhaps I will start here,

my family has already branded our influence on this city.

The road lies ahead like a dead tree

buzzing and humming

from the swarm of cars.

The ramp is one short pathway

into a possible life, a possible home,

a possibility that I reach toward like a star.

The winding stretch of road

curves me toward a blue glass city

where I may engrave my name,

where I might secure a future.