May 24, 2009

...and when it rains...

The Cloudy skies...

They call out to something

deep within me.


What visions that rise...

from the depths of the being;

what visions now belong to me!


Eyes searching the firmament

gray, black, inky blue,

promises gift-wrapped in a bundle of colour.


As glints of light glimmer from between the folds

and clash with one another

with bellowing war cries

erupting from raging wars,

blue hits gray

black dispels them both.


Shiny tears of a wailing war-hating woman

descend to drench us in their sorrow

with plaintive tones for accompaniment.


Scary, thrilling, beyond mortal vision,

the world that benevolently hangs above

has tales, hidden, mysteriously unto itself

glimpses of which we snatch when it rains...

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© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall