Swimming in the clouds of grey,
the faint bright light of day still gleams.
The light of blue infused so deep,
sends memories of the sun to sleep.
But we cannot weep at what once was lost,
until we escape the grasp of frost.
And swirling in the warmth a breeze,
aloft deceit,
to bring to knees.
We smile perchance and chance a glance,
at truth so true it halts belief.
Yet offers no relief.
Where to now?

Outside my window the spirits of Africa play.
The night lit tree sways longingly in the friendly breeze.
Ruffled lions cascade smiling through the summer leaves,
while the mother dragon sits peering, curiously benevolent.
Her golden green scales reflecting the now familiar yellow orange streetlight.
Through wood framed glass and painted bars,
Her dark eyes, huge, wise and kind,
glisten with the sparks of infinite ages yet to be.

First the boredom,
then the panic,
some aggression,
it’s just my manic.