The Color of Steam
The sun dripped in my dream,
thousands of droplets, the color of steam,
amorphously fallen, although they had been,
at once they had shape, and next they had skin!
Whirling and dancing with magnificent spin,
until they stood still and motionless when
they collapsed from their form into globules again.
Doesn’t anyone see these
pale figures backlit in black?
Peer far into the shadows,
and never look back.
Throughout decades traversed--
always decaying, forever in curse.
Through the skies black with smoke an arrow was sent
whistling and swishing downward in descent,
where finally it struck the man for whom it was meant.
Away in silence and eternity went
this long-detached lover in solemn lament
Doesn’t anyone see these
when they drift back into sleep?
They’re souls we must turn from,
we’re souls they must keep.
Copyright © Greg Easley | Year Posted 2006
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