A Poem I Had Imagined
I walked unhurriendly on a desolate beach
where the crystalline sand was ash white,
and barefoot I avoided broken seashells;
the April breeze wasn't tiepid but cool.
I looked much farther than I could see,
but the broken clouds of gray and purple
didn't hide the grin of the melancholic moon
that dispised the dulliness of the horizon.
Calmness was felt inside and out,
weary seagulls decided to take a rest,
the novice painter left the promontory;
solitude immersed hearts into sadness.
The darker it got, the duller thoughts became;
stunning images surrendered to the bleak dusk,
I picked up my fishing cane and left with hesitation,
and returning tomorrow, wouldn't I have felt the same?
While going back I spotted someone writing on the bench,
his thoughts were fixed on the crepuscular shadows
that swiftly transformed the lively images I saw before,
and I sensed he was writing a poem I had imagined.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2020
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