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To Pastel Skies
Dull
Cerebral clouds
Gather anxiously
As I watch the warmth of summer days
Fade into mists of memory, and all seems lost to the doffing of Jack Frost’s
Cap as he beckons my reluctant soul towards days where I know nothing of the
contentment or comfort of being.
And then when all seems lost to hazy memory and yearning I awake next morning
To pastel skies stretching across a perfect artist's canvass on which I am awakened
To definition, and I am no longer a prisoner dragged into cells of winter despair but I
Am alive to a world of charcoal perfection, every tiny twig defined for me.
Now would I swap the writings of my soul in exchange for being the genius to capture
Autumns illustration, to absorb all that which my eyes can only scrutinise to find the tiniest
Detail given to me on a plate of all consuming life!
And yes in the heaven of guilded skies my soul rises to know the meaning of joy but this
Is the key to my awakening, and all that is within me stubbornly holding on to glorious
Summer, is in definition persuaded to leave the door of hope ajar.
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