POETRY

Ghost in Rainclouds

Evening primrose bathed in twilight.

Rousing eyes fade in the half-life,

Seemed their colors shined like those;

 Angel statues and marbled rose.

I'd heard the winds above our trees—

They blew clouds like islands, 

And sailed along like argosies,

 In their guise of diamonds.

The tempests still were miles away, 

Raising Cain and made their play.

Birds had crooned their sultry tune,

Consoling despite storms forging soon.

Thunder groaned and pellets marched, 

Petrichor stained air, soever early. 

Dog days were cruel; the earth was parched,

Pregnant clouds, beseeched to hurry.

Rustic aromas shift to dew,

Damp scents from wood-filled air, too. 

Bombarded by moisture-laden air, 

Is when the peals roused a flare.

They lit the sky— a moment 'twas day,

I saw perfectly, cranes fly in flocks,

Ere too long, it waned away,

Cymbals of Zeus hit ears like rocks.

Offspring of clouds brisked the flesh,

Caressed the hair, kist the dress. 

Every drop, the body of Venus, 

Washed away; cleaned with fluoresce.

Dollops crashed, sleeping pianos,

Essence reckoned such ways with music,

Like that enticing refrain of sopranos,

Always find ways to draw us to it. 

So 'twas time— immersion in waters, 

Towards dreams of sheep, of him, and marauders. 

Of pining's seed, drowned in the sea,

 Of rain and dreams, and lilac things...

 —All, which does belong to me.