hot but cold, yes
still recovering
yet I want another holiday
already I've laid here too long
& the itch to flee
builds again inside of me
it felt like a blur, but I sure
cried like hell & the fever never
seemed to let go
so I slept & slept,
& woke to puddles full of sweat
& dreamt of somewhere maybe
we could go.
I thought we could take holiday
somewhere near, maybe far
take a boat, or possibly car
I could pack one bag
or how about a few?
still recovering
yet I am ready to go
because this place isn't home
& I want something new

Looking out across the many shades of dark on dark
The rolling ashen gray fog opens a window to the dawn
and I feel a loneliness,  arising like the winter sun
             … in the morning

The trees have bared their golden surrender
Breaking silence through the windswept boughs
below,  gathered dewdrops blossom on the last winter rose
             … a chilling epilogue

Beyond the waning hydrangea sundried sepia tones
Latent conflicts of the head and heart stir the hush of memories
imposing heart whispers,  arising like sunlight shadows cast
             … in the morning

There’s no one listening to the wind roar the incoming wintertide
An ascending sadness paints many hues that contrast dark and light
as the Pink Moon,  steals away over lonely mountain headed south
             … in the morning


                                         every picture tells a story ― ☾ wild is the wind ☽