what of this filled sky
that storms overhead
is there not still an
opening that shines
with some sun
take a little turpentine and
wipe the fields of color
what of the simple beauty
forgotten or lost in the
underneath
is there not still a song of
hope to sing through despair
taking pleasure in the voice
and the black-and-white of
rainfall
what of this narrow road
that disappears behind me
what of any thing has
anything of value, is there
one so loved
(Image from regis-chupin-photos.tumblr.com)
No comments:
Post a Comment