Cotton blotched skies, like headless sheep suspended in
the sea, threaten to drench the verdure in shades of grey,
a sapphire haze descends upon the blades of gilded leaves,
as another fickle summer is dissolved in the heat of rain.
As the warmth begins to plot its final escape, the distressed
daisies distort under the weight of dampened dreams, their
petals palsied push further into their graves as the heavens
proceed to smite and pelt the jilted once again.
And the seasons they are always absolved of their treacherous
ways, ’tis the flower that pays the price for unswayed loyalty,
when the Sun can leave its faithful barks, their cherished fronds
to the mercy of the rain, why do I question trivial absence?
We are all chained to something lost.