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Literature Text
--
The morning is a cold cut
in the calendar,
but I brave it
for a look at the horizon.
The land is alive, with accents
of snow that are dust and ash
left by old ages.
And the clouds cast
their shadows,
and "you sigh"
again and again.
And my eyes turn
their focus every time
to the birds and
their patterns in the sky.
--
The morning is a cold cut
in the calendar,
but I brave it
for a look at the horizon.
The land is alive, with accents
of snow that are dust and ash
left by old ages.
And the clouds cast
their shadows,
and "you sigh"
again and again.
And my eyes turn
their focus every time
to the birds and
their patterns in the sky.
--
After a string of haiku, this is unearthed. It was the first good commute I had in quite awhile and everything seemed to be beautiful. Even the gloomy atmosphere.
EDIT: This has undergone a major overhaul with all of the first part removed. I didn't feel that it fit, and so now that part is its own work in the deep shadows of my gallery.
EDIT: Even more edits.
EDIT: This has undergone a major overhaul with all of the first part removed. I didn't feel that it fit, and so now that part is its own work in the deep shadows of my gallery.
EDIT: Even more edits.
© 2010 - 2024 dead-now
Comments5
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Maybe because I read Victory Rose and thought of Sigur Rós, but I see a lot of them in this work. Particularly, but I could be wrong, Glósóli comes to mind... and it may be because their music is so beautiful, but I truly enjoyed this. 