Be the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. ~Lord Byron
* * * * *
It’s that time again,
just before the streets and
the souls of walking people adopt
the crepuscular cover of the night
and the mass of watery atoms in the air,
engaged in a savage samba
with the ray- less sky
applauds the winds that
grow adventurous, almost chivalrous.
Leaves are spent under rain drops
and anxious whispers, and hope somehow
rises weary and little by little leaves.
I am left with bloodthirsty icons
of the four season
and in each of them, the sun bows
to Vivaldi’s wrathful violins.
© 2013 Broken Sparkles