07-12-2015, 03:43 AM
This poem speaks of a promenade.
A disc of fire beaming down rays of light,
Face is illumined, embellished before sight.
Feet lightly strolling, skin caressed by a wind, Posture held together, hands are twinned.
Small white, red, black wings flying in the air,
In various configurations, set so debonnaire.
The mind coming and going, together flying,
A natural world around, sensations edifying. Imposing rectangular monuments of concrete, Creations of a civilization at times derelict.
Vistas of green, lush verdure turned into grey,
The clear, blue firmament, a weather of May. Bodies sitting, standing, flowing in the meadows,
Voices dancing around, murmurs with echoes.
Life parked on the wood come to a standstill, Perception rests on meditation beyond the hill.
A disc of fire beaming down rays of light,
Face is illumined, embellished before sight.
Feet lightly strolling, skin caressed by a wind, Posture held together, hands are twinned.
Small white, red, black wings flying in the air,
In various configurations, set so debonnaire.
The mind coming and going, together flying,
A natural world around, sensations edifying. Imposing rectangular monuments of concrete, Creations of a civilization at times derelict.
Vistas of green, lush verdure turned into grey,
The clear, blue firmament, a weather of May. Bodies sitting, standing, flowing in the meadows,
Voices dancing around, murmurs with echoes.
Life parked on the wood come to a standstill, Perception rests on meditation beyond the hill.