Not grey, not quite, but a muted space.
Evening's impression embracing the view.
Fallen are the boundaries that held in place
ethereal beauty that once was new.
Lost to the night, your empirical grace;
iridescent memories we formerly knew.
Both joy and peace, all now encased
as a box of sentiments we long outgrew.
'Tomorrow' - a word that feels as misplaced
as a cloud in a mirror that once was blue.
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Author:
Eugene S. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 24th, 2021 10:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 81
Offline)
Comments1
Beautiful rhythm
Thank you. It was an attempt at a meaningful acrostic.
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