a cloud
a multitude of greys
sprinkling
beautiful melodies
down on us
like rain
youre puck
youre pan
a faun throwing the white orchids petals to the wind
they float like
musical notes
and soothe our spirits
a demi god
a rose of blood red
your beauty boldly screams aloud
so that everyone we pass
is taken aback
and stares with eyes wide
wild with admiration
as you hum your quiet songs
the cadence of an old soul
aching to tell their story
of cracked marble and soft lilac asphodel
maybe hundreds of years ago
of an age never known
the rain is coming
perhaps it is thunder
and we forgot our umbrella
the world may end
in our lifetime also
blissfully we are aware
and collect our moments
like bars of gold
About the Creator
Christopher Pryde
Philosophy and psychology.
Keep reading
More stories from Christopher Pryde and writers in Poets and other communities.
January Windfall
“It's not so bad… I suppose,” Astrid penned into her little black book. She isn’t sure how long she has owned this book, but it always seems to have one more blank page, room for one more story. It was once the keeper of inspiration and grandiose stories, now a crypt to unfinished adventures and epics turned tragedy. She gently replaces the book on her nightstand and looks at the clock; 9:17 am. Soft grey light filtering through dusty linen curtains, another snowy January morning inviting her to drift back to sleep.
By Christopher Pryde5 years ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.