Across this land the grey is here.
Heavy like a moping teenager
Bored of its parents company,
It forces the smiles into
Streets that are usually raucous
With children’s games seem
Cemetery like. It’s almost as if
Death is around the corner
Waiting to call action.
I dream of a crack in this deep,
Dull depression that spreads
With ecstatic sighs like the legs
Of a willing lover desperate for her
Glory to shine from within.
If it’s going to be warm, at least
Invite the sun, it’s cheeks rosy,
To play out today. Don’t lock it up
In a miserable corner with this
Moody blanket over its head.