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harlon-riversPoems
Remains of the summer sunlight drip out, entomb'd in raindrops from the prevailing gray beclouded skies Memories of joy bathed in sunlight unravel like a wind frayed kite dancing above a day at the beach Soaring seagulls ponder all thousand feet of kite string tied to a hidden bliss below — hurtling through the shapeless heavens tethered to refreshed dreams still lingering within an untamed child of the wind Morning falls from  the  trees in whispers of golden sorrow The damp chilled air smells fresh as the traces of heaven's cleansing rain — befallen drop  by  drop, each plash counted from an angel weeping, splattering the broken silence all  through the night. An inflamed montage of leaves surrender all this unholdable lifeline we  ever  know; blanketing the fields of  autumn's tawny  grass — Sowing a mosaic colored reclamation  reposed atop a nascent green, soon enrobed by impending winter’s pallid slumbering hues The darkening hush imbues a shadowing fugitive peacefulness bathed in wind river eddies of autumn’s blessing rains harlon rivers
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Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
etomb'd in raindrops
Remains of the summer sunlight drip out, entomb'd in raindrops from the prevailing gray beclouded skies Memories of joy bathed in sunlight unravel like a wind frayed kite dancing above a day at the beach Soaring seagulls ponder all thousand feet of kite string tied to a hidden bliss below — hurtling through the shapeless heavens tethered to refreshed dreams still lingering within an untamed child of the wind Morning falls from  the  trees in whispers of golden sorrow The damp chilled air smells fresh as the traces of heaven's cleansing rain — befallen drop  by  drop, each plash counted from an angel weeping, splattering the broken silence all  through the night. An inflamed montage of leaves surrender all this unholdable lifeline we  ever  know; blanketing the fields of  autumn's tawny  grass — Sowing a mosaic colored reclamation  reposed atop a nascent green, soon enrobed by impending winter’s pallid slumbering hues The darkening hush imbues a shadowing fugitive peacefulness bathed in wind river eddies of autumn’s blessing rains harlon rivers
November 3, 2018 "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." ― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
#thoughts#life#light#darkness
harlon-rivers
Written by
harlon-rivers
M/Edge of the woods
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
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