A thought emerges…
A thought emerges. A swift burst Of lurid incandescence Smells of wood wettened by Furious rain And hoarse cackling Stirred amid errant coughs Boiled to warring shadows.
Perhaps the price to be paid For the luxury Of daytime revelry Rests in the quotidian Menace of skies Progressively blinded by Ripped hosiery and Half-smiles that rarely Importune our forgiveness.
And the thought is no more, Whisked away by everything Directionless conscience And now we stand proudly Warriors of the blackened meadow Giving way to an empty sea. We are infinitely torn, But thrice bound,
To remembrance of Day, To Glory feigned and true, To heavy breathing Punctuated by infrequent Gasps of abandoned laughter.
Art: “Sunset in Montmartre” Vincent van Gogh