Grey mist creates a smaller world, the eye strains
To see beyond the possible, where only the inner
Vision can see the unseen for which it can't blink
Close an eye, or turn away from disgusting truths.
Dull miasma dreamy as passing melancholy, turns
Angel white burnoose at dawn, with a hint of rusty
Harp strings, a whiff of green straws, full of tears
That will be handed out to children under five.
Aurora, the Roman Goddess of daybreak, when
Natural light puts night in a sack and throws it down
A well where nights of horror dwell but refuse to
Be still, forever trying to escape their own darkness,
Longing to be back in someone's head, pining to
Be formidable and strong, but the day will not let it.
