This torn part of me would soon have a seal,
Perhaps, it only needs a summer to heal.
A kind of summer obscured with Nimbus,
Overlapping the clouds Cirrus.
A kind of day
Wherein everything's gray.
A weather too lifeless to kill,
A summer to heal.
Plants bowed down.
Flowers form a frown.
Earth to moist to climb a hill.
A summer to heal.
The air's too cold,
Even jackets are sold.
A season believed to be surreal.
My type of summer to heal.
~~~
This is one of my favorite! Hope you like it. It'll mean a lot.
~W
YOU ARE READING
Hurled Thoughts
PoesíaWe hurl thoughts like we breathe every gust of wind... To the words never spoken. To the thoughts I have forgotten.
