Either a desperate effort to compose a love song, or just another exercise in futliliy, I offer this instead of blasts of patriotic air. God bless.
Witt
The night is pleasantly calm with a bright moon, and beautifully arrayed background of stars. He sits alone with a flickering candle providing a hint of soothing vanilla oil wafting through the air, and he wonders: "Will there ever be a time when this space permeats the feminine?" With sleep waiting somewhere towards dawn, not a sound breaks the silence of a thousand conscious thoughts of what was, and is to be. Perhaps tomorrow brings a whole new opportunity to find his dream amongst the brazen clover overgrown beside the stream. "Good night my Fair Lady, good night."
Sun slowly rises as birdsong enters from pre-dawn whispers. A brief night has offered little consolation to his plight as reality has evaded capture in his quest of dreams come true. Scent of morning dew gives reference to an inner longing, and in this nostalgic state he thinks to himself: "Has my heart gone cold with the tolling of the church bell?" Yet, 6 a.m. and all is well, all is well with his soul. "God must have a plan for me, and there must be answers forthcoming on whisps of wind carried aloft through my window by way of passing angel wings. Good morning my gray lady, sunlight awaits to shower golden beams upon thy face."
D.A. Wittler 17'
No comments:
Post a Comment