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Monday

Dusk.

I tried something new here. Something new new. I invented my own poetic meter. The lines are vary in length and number of poetic "feet", but there in each is a break before the last four syllables. The rhyme scheme is a simple abcb one. Each line becoming a sentence in itself was not intentional.

Dusk

Blooms abused as weeds dance light-footed, on whispering breeze.

Birds share songs of night; ignore the moon.

A pure westward glow shrinks shyly upon itself – blinking at dusk.

Traffic sounds blur miles away: tonight they will not reach, in my cocoon.

Evening sighs a happy breath, its colors fade.

The silver maplett tousles, wrestling wind.

Pale colors transform white, dark becomes black.


My soul’s asleep, now, with nature’s twinned. 

1 comment:

  1. Mmm. This is prettiness. I can almost feel the evening breezes. Love that sentence about traffic sounds blurring in the distance and not reaching you. It sounds so peaceful. I've found that sometimes certain sounds like that simply add to the quiet. Like a clock ticking, or a fridge thrumming.

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