A Year of Poems – Day 97

Dusk casts odd angles on the backs of heads
pressed as pixel thin as the newest screen
working the latest version of machine
churning to multiply their daily bread.
The angled rays diffuse off of the clouds
radiating out the sun’s dying heat
as clouds wrap round in a funeral shroud.
Which will soon vanish to a dirge-like beat
tapped on the keyboards, inside of the homes,
where life goes on despite this procession
which recurs every day in slow regression
down to night. But until that time, the gloaming
will burnish it all until it all glows
like the bud of a rose about to grow.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s