Littlest Brontides | cereseithne
Lifeless Land
The empyrean is ostensively glossed with cerulean;
a sumptuous welkin in the glorious summer of 2004.
And the feverish flurry prodded me of the Sicilian
sunshine and that one emaciated walnut tree that
fairly conjures me up of my egotistic bournes,
that blazes in the wonders but evanesces swiftly
among the frothing reeds in the chilly nightfall.
Those drooped down, now barely discernible.
Mayhaps, it was a reposeful reminder that the
terra firma where those seedlings were sown
has nothing more worthwhile to grow.
YOU ARE READING
Littlest Brontides
PoetryAn anthology tackling the cosmic baffling collision of societal conditions and the incalculable prejudices and other musings coming as littlest brontides with a hope that their low rumbles may find their ways to you. Always and forever, Ceres Eithne
