Cyclone

Carefree, great big blue Birds fly

Kicked by pink Flamingos lie.

Fell from a place not below or above

Dusty innocence from refraining from love.

Am I wrong for crossing what’s shown?

The cycles of others sweep me through a cyclone.

A damper of moods frigid as hail

A temperature heightened from anger that’s male.

Distant from other’s yet lacking own self connection

They spill out their secrets but I’m left with retention.

Gilded geranium; pink but not gold

Fall leaves like spackle to keep me in hold.

Fugues of time of both young and the old.