"A crimson sky breaks the distant shore,"
beaming an omen from the opened draw.
Highlighting a warning to fear, abhor?
Or perchance, a delight joyously to adore?
Which way do I look and when, for this brainstorming.
To read the sky bathed in crimson blood swarming?
Looking left at dawn, I get a warning, yawning!
Looking right at dusk, I get delight, informing!
Red sky at night, red sky at dawn,
What lies between, as day is dusted done, then newborn?
For at both birth and death, blood is often shed forlorn,
spreading its crimson veil, upward into the sky to adorn.
What if I'm not a shepherd or a sailor?
But, a land-blubber, or a tinker tailor?
How should I read the sky's loudhailer?
Perhaps I'll sleep, and wait for the trailer!
Crimson leaves flutter in Autumn's brisk breeze,
rustling cerise ripples through the treetops,
and as October winds tickle the trees,
sunburned farmers start harvesting their crops.
A scarlet sun bleeds onto carmine clouds,
inking colors that adhere to Night's brush;
and Dusk's magenta and rose-tinted shrouds
conceal Sol's death, in a vermillion blush.
When Nature's palette imbues Autumn's art,
cinnabar collects on the maple trees,
while signaling Winter's about to start,
russet canopies shift tints in degrees.
Burgundy, fuchsia, and maroon leaves fall,
till the naked trees get stripped of them all.
Dawn pierces the ebony heart of Night,
dripping blood onto alabaster clouds.
As scarlet skies glow in the morning light,
Dawn pierces the ebony heart of Night,
and shifting shadows slowly fade from sight.
The eastern sky draped in misty pink shrouds:
Dawn pierces the ebony heart of Night;
dripping blood onto alabaster clouds.
Dawn pierces the ebony heart of Night,
as scarlet skies glow in the morning light
and shifting shadows slowly fade from sight.
The eastern sky draped in misty pink shrouds:
dripping blood onto alabaster clouds,
Sol rises to the acclaim of the crowds.
The moon was obscured by a swirl of shrouds
Witches and goblins were laughing out loud
Lest you think Halloween
Or that Lilith's now Queen
It was merely a parade of proud shrouds
I want to be shaded, from the weathers blight,
Protected from The wind and lightning’s flight,
I want to be, lodged and screened from the sea,
Blanketed by an azure sky, within the Valley’s lea.
And having wandered, to this place,
I don’t want to hustle, I don’t want to chase.
My only desire, is just to be,
Left in thoughtful reverie.
There are days like these, when life seems dim,
Your pot has been filled. But not to the brim,
You can like it or lump it, no change will ensue
But at least to yourself you can always be true.
Give me a starry night, unfilled with clouds,
Uplift your spirits, cast off the shrouds.
Gaze in wonder, at this awe inspiring sight,
But know those distant suns are dead,
Despite their look so bright.
And so it is with the human condition,
We all look bright despite our perdition,
We shuffle along in a queue to the grave,
Hoping that light, (that’s our soul) we will save
Cloaked In Deceit And Hidden In Darkened Shrouds
I am done with giving to those that deceive
casting pearls to those that do not believe.
Why join with pretenders seeking a gold crown
when all they desire is to take you down?
Poetry is not game that some make it to be
not the glory of look all, how pretty is me.
So much more than some can ever dare to find
its hearts of deep soul and generous giving mind.
So as some walk in pride upon plastic clouds
cloaked in deceit and hidden in darkened shrouds.
Consider those that humbly dare to bear it all
with no demands to be given the golden ball.
Yes, this world rewards such as those that plot
against those truly sincere and demanding not.
Robert J. Lindley
Sonnet L10,11,12.
When silence shrouds, he's consumed
Consumed by the nothingness that is everything
The nothingness that is everywhere
Escape: futile.
He resists, but his resistance is minute.
Such strife in his thoughts
Such angst in his mind.
When he needs them, 'They' seem aloof?
When he needs them, 'They' disappear?
He feels 'They' don't understand
He feels 'They' won't understand.
Rift, distance confects
Confects between them: 'They'?
When silence shrouds, he's consumed
Consumed by the nothingness that is everything
The nothingness that is everywhere
Escape: futile?
Emotions are left in the nothingness of silence
For this reason, 'They' seldom hear them.
'They' seldom see him
Though his physical being is ever-present.
When silence shrouds, he's consumed
Consumed by the nothingness that is everything
The nothingness that is everywhere
Escape.
Shrouds of mist did cloak the day.
Whispering winds with list did play.
Upon the graves of human minds
shrouds of mist were left behind.....
Well-wrought webs of darkness dim
vibrant thoughts held within.
The minds of humans do decay
as shrouds of mist on sorrow play.
Shrouds of mist did cloak the day
as waves of senses swept away
and all of those who dare rebel
were swiftly grasped and swirled to hell.
*Written at 16
A winter shrouds the spring of ours –
the ruthless snowstorm starts to whirl,
the snowy mantle lies around us
and Boreas will gloss it well.
I wanna warm days – when a brook
in gaiety will join a stream,
when trees under the sunny look
will lushly blossom out in leaf.
Like dripping water falling down
will ever live through drop by drop.
Like birds will land the nearest ground
and turn their eyes in skies to hop.
So I will only long for you,
my destination will come true.
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