Cloudbreak

Sodden and dark, storm

clouds gather behind

solemn eyes in a surge

of colorless cynicism. At a word, the

slightest shimmer of a smile seeks to

sing sunbeams on the sullen scene,

but soon shatters

in a visceral slashing of stunted

artistry - a scrap of color on a pallid palette.

And the tempest rages at its passing,

“Keep your mean reds and conflagration,

your cowardice and green illumination,

your backbeat blues and universal truths,

and the withered flowers of a broken nation.

I will not go gently on

while meretricious moods foment,

and can crush capricious song

into a monochrome moment!”

...yet even such passionate

dispassion cannot drown

the beauty of these marred and broken

melodies. No matter how the heart cries,

The dying light yet twinkles

in those cold, hard eyes.