Gray Hope

When it’s raining leaves,
and the wind is my stylist
whispering things in my ear,
I feel like I’m in a fantasy novel.
And then, the gray skies prophecy not the end,
but the beginning.
My life is an adventure,
not a tragedy.

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Fickle

The atmosphere
how inconstant you are
one day pink
the next gray
are you toying with me?
If it’s flirting, it’s not working.
this heavy mist thing,
it’s choking up my light
How am I supposed to write?
Before I go on rhyming
I’ll just say
That I would like a little
sunshine today.