Shape of Things
SHAPE OF THINGS
Clouds of fleeting cotton lump
Tire in making changing shape
Tell wind stop blowing squally across sky
Its face would adorn shining golden lines
As cold sun sinks beneath skyline remote.
The last rays paint old leaf tan
In summer heat the face curls
As the shape of youth crushes within dry
In fall wind it blows away from the stem
Tree wishes spring to usher in the green.
Lean buds open their dry eyes
See petal shape blissful bloom
In flowers soaking colors from spring air
Share hue of butterflies from sunset sky
Until the shape of splendor wilts forlorn.
My aloneness walks with me
Towards you my silver moon
Its shadow sinks in my fading footprints
It would pace till I reach you shadowless
You will see me close in shape of silence.
Life weaves mazes of patterns
Its shape of things is ordained.
Written : March 10, 2018.
March 18, 2020
Strand No. 700, Any Form, Any Theme of Brian Strand
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