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Poem

Symphony  for stringed Instrument 
 Grey mist creates a smaller world the eye strains
To see beyond the possible, where only the inner
Vision can see the unseen for which it can´t blink 
Close an eye, or turn away from disgusting truths.
Dull miasma dreamy as passing melancholy, turns
Angel white burnoose at dawn, with a hint of rusty 
Harp strings, a whiff of green straws, full of tears 
That will be handed out to children under five.

Aurora, the Roman Goddess of daybreak, when 
Natural light puts night in a sack and throws it down 
A well where nights of horror dwell but refuse to 
Be still forever trying to escape its own darkness,
Longing to be back in some ones head, pining to
Be formidable and strong, but the day will not let it.

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