hope crumbles like
leaves in the fall
It seeps from emerald and orange-brown, the
show of coral in the Caribbean Sea.
Melancholy gathers in the veins of the fisherman
taking a **** off the seashore.
He, as many, put lead arms over the sea. Twin
suns intertwined, produce solar flares of
sea-blue and scarlet changing the air.
Too bright ----
Ruby and sapphire pour through pores
like oxidized blood flowing from an open wound.
Four black mountains,
molehills---
depends on who names them.
Blue-green the sea washes back unto itself
carrying away drift wood as
happiness carries sadness with heavy hands.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 1:07 PM UTC
hope crumbles like
leaves in the fall
It seeps from emerald and orange-brown, the
show of coral in the Caribbean Sea.
Melancholy gathers in the veins of the fisherman
taking a **** off the seashore.
He, as many, put lead arms over the sea. Twin
suns intertwined, produce solar flares of
sea-blue and scarlet changing the air.
Too bright ----
Ruby and sapphire pour through pores
like oxidized blood flowing from an open wound.
Four black mountains,
molehills---
depends on who names them.
Blue-green the sea washes back unto itself
carrying away drift wood as
happiness carries sadness with heavy hands.
This is one of those few poems I will ever write which have no real meaning beyond the essence of the words.
Additionally, this was not just me at all.
This was a collaborative effort between a Justin Hunter and myself.