The transparent sky,
Isn't so transparent.
The space between us,
Isn't as spacious.
The dandelions so yellow--
Washed white fuzzies in lost time.
Perhaps love is not hurtful,
For love was once baffling.
Keep me confused.
With a peaceful soul--
Of course...
My feet are cement.
YOU ARE READING
A Dove's Quandary
PoesiaA collection for when the idea of peace and love is rudely interrupted.
