Tiny realms of delight,
Untainted by the alluring mediocrity of the world;
And yet, a shimmering part, for they alight
Upon the pavement, smooth and lethal-
Silver droplets, round as beetles.
The grey skies, smothering and unmoving
Dance above in bleak pirouettes
But the worlds of surreal simplicity
Racing to the grounds
On windy chariots weaved by the breeze,
Unique, askew and still so uniform,
Don't stop shining.
The clouds cast their grey blankets of doom,
They clear and let the Sun beat hard
Trying to wash the little rebels
Of their little lives.
It makes little use.
The Sun, once a sworn ally of its grey fellows
Now smitten by the beauty
Of the beasts it can never reach-
Betrays its grey companions
And raises the beauty of the drops
To ethereal forms.
The little embodiments of perfection
Laugh, snigger at their foes
As the clouds bear down on them above;
Slice through the warm smell of the soil,
Bounce on welcoming umbrellas,
And finally
Touch the ground.
The bundles of naivety
In their zest to outrun their foes above,
Forget that their greatest enemy
Was lurking beneath their beings,
Rushing up
To meet them,
With every passing wind.
And now,
Nothing remains to remind me
Of my foolish, tiny muses
Save an army of swiftly-dispersing grey
Raw as bread,
And a wet puddle below
That bleeds, bright as day
With every passing tread.
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Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
