The breeze brews black as Jason's ewe beats bold and blue.
At first glance - second even - past I
Rushed; brushing you from sight.
But now the mind drifts to nooks and nodules only the most desecrated synapses wake.
Soon I am distracted by the sight that sits before my eyes as they cast themselves left; find
Change. Monochrome shades; which have known each and every blade.
None alone, they condone propensity
Whilst surviving, prone. Unknowing,
Of what is yet to come. For what fun
Will it be to see them run and flee
Foresaking the rest without pause for breath, after all we are what is left
Each new lot an unruly and cumbersome hoard of faked shock and dross
Guised cynically as truth. Perhaps not a surprise to see that their starless faces are to me of more value than you.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
The breeze brews black as Jason's ewe beats bold and blue.
At first glance - second even - past I
Rushed; brushing you from sight.
But now the mind drifts to nooks and nodules only the most desecrated synapses wake.
Soon I am distracted by the sight that sits before my eyes as they cast themselves left; find
Change. Monochrome shades; which have known each and every blade.
None alone, they condone propensity
Whilst surviving, prone. Unknowing,
Of what is yet to come. For what fun
Will it be to see them run and flee
Foresaking the rest without pause for breath, after all we are what is left
Each new lot an unruly and cumbersome hoard of faked shock and dross
Guised cynically as truth. Perhaps not a surprise to see that their starless faces are to me of more value than you.
A poem inspired by a field of sheep.