Immersed in the subtle flood
Of greens and browns, yellow, ochre and bronze,
The tulmulations and ripples of heart and mind
Still, revealing higher ideals.
Sulks and smiles, laughter and cries,
The mind is a varied landscape
Joy and sorrow, hatred, love, and apathy
Respect, admiration, disgust and condescension...
Conscience is a funny state.
Poetry is a boon, free thought indeed,
Successive syllables serially strung,
Words wantonly voiced in verse
Alliteration abounds
Flights of fancy fit to form
Relaxes, rejuvenates, repairs
A meditation mediated by melodic breaks.
The setting sun brings orange light
Painting the sky in royal tones
Soon, the mature mistress of day,
Elegant, soft, subtle, secretive,
Cold, yet welcoming, acceptant, yet feared,
The cloak of night will drape the world.