These Random Days

These random days;
Unending ivy hours,
Reminds me of you,
Eclipsed under a full moon,
Swimming under transparent blankets,
Like shadow underwater,
Leaning away into depths,
Far deeper than any sun could fathom.

These random days,
The blank restlessness, of the far wall,
Staring away into Oblivion,
Reminds me of you,
And your feathers, strewn across floor,
Like borrowed rainbow,
Tinged with stardust, raindrops, and raven rust of stark twilight.

These random days,
The gathering thunderstorm, dry leaves sailing lovelorn,
Against the grey crests of light,
Reminds me of you,
Hiding behind my back, with secrets upon those lips,
And my heart a shard of glass,
Under your diamond fingertips.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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