Stripes be painted black
The sky not yet made like a tiny windlings bed
The clouds be penciled in by the mass
The trees wavering from side to side as if shivering
The grass folded into itself like an ocean creating waves
The rain come in like an army of kids battling for sweets
Blue splatters behind the car mirror
Darkness of the tide fades into calm territory
Creatures from a far come out to dance
Echos of howls clatter against the glass
The pitter patter of droplets hit your skin
Blurred red lanterns form a pathway to your surroundings
The vibrations of the windlings relax
Blue blurs black and all we know is known
To the Windlings
| __________ | ___________ |
Copyrighted MyTimeWasYesterday
A/N: Hi, hoped ya liked my interpertation of the rain and the wind. {To the Windlings}
YOU ARE READING
The Expressionists
PoetryThey speak. I hear. I breath. He looks. They run. I look away. I turn back. They disappear. I wake up. They are gone. Them and he; are just shadows. -------- The Dreamer CopyRight MyTimeWasYesterday
