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2d · 110
Sky of Gray
Chris S 2d
The day I woke up, the sky was gray.
Clouds of black. A sprinkle of rain.
Thunder claps, yet it was midday.
Flowing orange fire like a tiger's mane.

Today, I woke up to a sky of gray.
Walked out to a sight quite often seen.
Fires burned bright, just to decay.
Sat still and watched, but not so keen.

Each day I wake up, the sky will be gray.
Water pours down, pools at my feet.
Flames clash with the sky-fallen bay.
Cool sensations burned up by the heat.
Jun 22
The Watchman
Chris S Jun 22
The Watchman rushes to the tower’s edge.
Markets burn brightly with flickering flames.
With families inside, the old church collapses.
Eventually, a burnt corpse with no name.
From a fiery furnace rises flesh-smelling smoke.
Carrying humanity’s guilt and shame.

The Watchman escapes, sprints to the kingdom
Musicians prepare for battle with a steady rhythm
Flutes begin sounding a swift, vibrant melody
Violas pluck a soft, but forceful harmony

The Watchman cries out to a listening crowd.
“Horrific, terrifying creatures are near.
A void of black, ears turned from the sound,
of monsters writhing in pain and agony.
Strong, steel chains by which they are bound.
Where vultures flock and tear flesh apart.”

“Shh,” says the Listener. “Let me listen no more
A song of beauty would much rather be heard”
From an Evergreen tree, a raven sweeps by.
Cawing echoes, like rain before a storm.
“Shh,” says the Listener. “I will listen no more!”
Jun 21 · 78
The Bird
Chris S Jun 21
Blue birds flutter feathers in morning winds.
A cardinal sings from its strong beak.
Wind carries the weightless creatures.
So delicate, so intricate. Yet, so weak.

The bird takes off from a nest of hungry mouths.
All is calm… but look in its eyes. Fires.
Does the bird fly in freedom?
Or in the flames of its own desires?
Jun 14 · 32
Paradise
Chris S Jun 14
His eyes peer out from darkness
to faint, far lights ahead
in desperation, he runs towards the sun
by its warmth he’s led

My monochrome eyes search and search
they seek these great lights
yet all I see is black upon black
despite my long and arduous fights

Then he reaches his destination
knowing prosperous times will come
picks baskets-full of ripe fruit
“How great is life!” He hums

I crawl and stagger on cold, hard rock
with darkness as my guide
I cry and cry. I weep and weep
but he has left me to die

Seeing the darkness of life, I say,
“That paradise must be a lie.”
Jun 14 · 61
Perfect Vision
Chris S Jun 14
A flower beautiful
as soft as velvet and
as intricate as a labyrinth.
The eyes of everyone
pass over this flower
praising it for its glory.

I gaze upon this flower
with a stem of many thorns
I see its imperfections.
It’s burdens flaws and failures
how great and many are they
underneath its petals.

They’re there for the viewer to see
the sins of current and past
but they lock their viewpoint.
Upon the petals
everyone’s eyes stay
because thorns hurt to grasp.

— The End —