Memories like faded Monet’s
windswept pastels and periwinkles
permeate into one hour. The Blue Hour...
the hour lost in the world of egg yolks
Pirouetting the equator line
that divides
the latitude that lusted for the sun, the stars,
the cobalt sky.
with solace it longed to be departed from
The milk washed violet dreams
where vigor seeks
a meteoric silence that ushered
Azure rays igniting light
that cracks behind the clouds beaming
whispers of secrets
unveiling echoes of Gymnopedie No.1
As it dances in the breeze
The wind doused by the rhythm of
the pulsating waves by the indigo shore
Deafens my senses
Deafens me
Deafens my world.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Memories like faded Monet’s
windswept pastels and periwinkles
permeate into one hour. The Blue Hour...
the hour lost in the world of egg yolks
Pirouetting the equator line
that divides
the latitude that lusted for the sun, the stars,
the cobalt sky.
with solace it longed to be departed from
The milk washed violet dreams
where vigor seeks
a meteoric silence that ushered
Azure rays igniting light
that cracks behind the clouds beaming
whispers of secrets
unveiling echoes of Gymnopedie No.1
As it dances in the breeze
The wind doused by the rhythm of
the pulsating waves by the indigo shore
Deafens my senses
Deafens me
Deafens my world.
