Wildflower Sky
“Wildflower Sky”
I.
The sky is a canvas of forgotten grey,
where heavy clouds wash the colours away.
Yet hidden beneath the shadow and chill,
the thought of her laughter is vibrant still -
a splash of bright crimson on winter’s cold floor,
the cardinal sings its music,
and makes the wide heavens
look lonely no more.
Old memories drift like sheets on a line,
bleached by the years and the passage of time.
But just at the edge, where the overcast fades,
a single wild lily refuses the shades.
He reaches across the distance and space,
and breathes in the springtime left by her face.
He has carried storms in the palm of his hand,
quiet, looming overcasts all over his land.
But minds have a way of chasing the gloom,
the moment a ghost of a flower starts to bloom.
One touch of her essence, a spark in the dark,
and the big, lonely sky becomes a meadow, a spark.
The clouds are just thoughts that refuse to stay,
drifting in monochrome, fading to grey.
But deep in the corner, where quiet things grow,
She is the wildflower he grew to know.
He closes his eyes to the wind and the air,
and touches the sky, because She is still there.
Now he carries the vastness of an empty blue sky,
where the slow, drifting clouds of his mind wander by.
Old memories drift like white sheets on a line,
faded and quieted by the passage of time,
an endless horizon of beautiful blue,
that waits for a tint of a brighter, warmer hue.
Afterall, clouds are just thoughts that refuse to remain,
and deep in the quiet, untouched by the rain,
a single bright wildflower refuses the shades -
the one vivid blossom that never quite fades.
A splash of rich colour on summer's wide floor,
the thought of her laughter makes him lonely no more.
He reaches across the distance and space,
to breathe in the springtime left by her face.
One touch of her essence, a spark in the dark,
and the big, blue expanse becomes a meadow, a spark.
II.
At a great distance removed,
She looks up -
at the vastness of the same endless blue,
where the slow, drifting clouds of her mind wander through.
Old memories drift like white sheets on a line,
swaying so soft, bleached in the passage of time,
an infinite canvas of quiet and space,
that waits for the warmth of a familiar face.
Afterall, clouds are just thoughts that the wind carries by,
and deep in the quiet of her own open blue sky,
she pictures his warmth like a sun-gold embrace -
the one steady light that time will never erase.
A splash of bright gold on the day's azure floor,
the thought of his smile makes her lonely no more.
She reaches across the great distance and air,
to send him her essence, a breath of a prayer.
One touch of his memory, a spark in the dark,
and her big, blue expanse becomes a meadow, a spark.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment