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Blank Slate

The silver drops

cascade down.

Golden, rouge, sepia;

dry tornado in the

ally between the two

bars, on the

windows keeping my

eyes wandering the

landscape. Locked in

not escaping the cold,

kept in the grotto

with my Falling heart.

Waiting for the warmth

to spring ahead

before we will frolic

in the navy abyss

while the iced flakes

graze our hair and fill

the land with a

blank slate.

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Published: Nov 11, 2011
LinesWords: 2070

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