Sombre Mood

Where are the living lines, the rising
dreams, rambunctious breaths of
exhaled air condensing into solid themes;
I’m waiting, waiting, near despair, tried
for patience, tied to fears as fickle
as the frigid air surrounding me.

This magus day of gravel grey and
chilling damp attenuates in gentle
shrouds of wispy mist, belies the heat
of yestere’en, the brutal thrash of gravid
sun, the dying threat and drying screams
of leaves burned brown from living green.

Dawn comes slowly, washed through
screens of granite skies, the glint of dew
pricked sweet in points of diamond light
reflects a sombre mood, the flight of
night rebirths this mirthless, naked day,
tho’ silenced in a chastened earth.
© I.D. Carswell 2006