Poetry Blogs (misty)

On a hot summers eve close to the twighlight,

the marble of crimson came rolling down past sight.

Misty clouds coating the ever changing sky.

birds whistle their last tune before slumber calls them.

Stars begin to light.

Soon it will be night.

Close to the twighlight.

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The flickering light calls from

across the disused railway embankment

like a lonely beacon sending signals

into the misty grey dawn.

Quietly questioning a world

still wrapped in strong arms of slumber.

I consider sending an answer,

would that I understood its coded question.

I’m drawn into its intoxicating world by

the pulsating rhythm of its incandescent heart...

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