Our world changes with every moment, our choices like threads to an earthly carpet weaving moments into circumstances and hopes, dreams and nightmares that we perceive as reality. Yet, for some years the circumstances appear to have worsened, as egos and selfish acts dominate both politics and economies. Clouds gather in dull greys and rules have become more inflexible as black and white, and I wonder what will be our plight within a world of such dubious direction…
On a Bed of Wildflowers
In the lexicon of hope, I cherish simple words,
colours palpable within hues absurd,
and the air I breathe so virtuously clear,
I cannot taste the bitter edge of revile, so austere
and so embedded in wayward minds.
Purple grasses lay amid sweeping zephyrs
in a pink release, as clouds assume the mantle
of heavens capped appease,
praying for some release from the ridged eyes
of false beliefs, captive to a murky brown dishonour.
Spires of once loved thought, burn,
lost to the imbalances they brought,
as red becomes the mantra of animal eyes,
death defied by wills of no compromise,
as beauty in multi-coloured view, becomes tainted.
Rivers once flowed in crystal visage,
twisting beauty and cleansing starts,
yet bodies now float upon
the refuse of paradigms long gone,
like flowers stripped of petals.
I lay amid the wildflowers,
colours like rainbows melted into hearts,
and my soul drifting in flighted art
to look below, the misery of black and white,
bleached reprieves and maladies apart take their toll.
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