Sun bleeds red through my curtainDemanding an answer.Unwillingly I respondTo the cries of the bell.Weariness draws my eyesTo the beginning of a dreary day.
Blue hues hepicannyThe suns rays have goneClouds absorb the skyI breathe in the oncoming night,Dark tones overtake my woesLike an aesthetic photo, colors go awryIn my surprise, I have no dark demise.I sit in peace, not missing the sunny side skies.
Grey clouds blanket the sky, Bringing shadow to the land below.One, two, droplets fall snatching my attention.The winds pick up, moist air clinging to it.Purple plasma snakes the clouds, like vicious leviathans, bringing thunder.The rain starts pouring on the asphalt, like grass growing rapidly.Soon, a symphony of splashes are heard miles around.Swathes of grass swaying in the wind.the grass overflows, opening puddles with mirror worlds.The water flows on all colors, a cacophony of sight.Rain flows so heavily, almost to clean the world.Tires splish the grass, becoming fiercer than sea waves,Almost as if the tires surfed.Soon, all storms come to an end.
After the sun rises the moonShining so silver like a knight in armorI wrap my hands in the lightGently touched like a flowing creekThe light flows and swirls around my fingersIf I could only keep it in a jarEver so softly shining, up in the lonely sky.Crickets chirp in blissful silenceThe air stops swirling and bumblingBusy bodies settle down for rest.The silence starts playing it's silent tuneWhen all have quieted to listenI hear it's calm, this quiet tune so gentle and wiseWhispering rest on uneasy mindsThe moon sings in melodytill the sun rises again
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.