Yellows in B major

The blue subdued moon woos, soothes.

Slow, below the confusing glow,

the hue of which it loses.

Grey grooves, white hooves,

my soul’s movement salutes;

proves to be moving

faint coos protruding,

scars of past bruises.

Purple views and bluish gleams

disappear into the seams of my

dopamine receptors. Screams,

cries, difficult goodbyes, like a

child who fights to hang tight

to the light that feels all right.

New sights reveal a divide,

old sighs conceal the tide.

I choose to see what’s left of me;

the trees grow green but in between

the moss it flows like liquid leaves,

the seas they seem relieving.

There’s no more storm as it gets warm,

although the low snow goes to show

how far the world has got to go

before they start believing.

My thoughts are merely seething;

this red temperature meter

beeping, the times must pass.

The new me feels the heat,

slowly learning how to last.

The past harasses and the

future beckons, I must keep

moving forward I reckon.

To trudge through grass,

to lose track of time when

the sludge the black

between the mud

comes back to haunt me.

A grudge gets held

by this universe’s hell

where the smells of

eons taunt me.

If you were to want me,

would you say it fondly?

In this sullen quandary,

can we just keep wandering?

This may be odd, but these words give me purpose.

The meaning’s absurd and the subjects are fleeting;

it’s freeing to write something ever so trite,

where rhymes always help me take flight.

By might and iron, the shrillest of sirens,

new heights can be expected.

If one’s to know what place to go,

that land shall be selected.

Minutely directed,

acutely inflected,

my words beget.

Rarely corrected,

always connected,

there’s no regret.