When Skies Are Grey

Now it is Friday,
And the fog lays thick on the land.

The sun is risen, but I cannot see my dear friend.
Fortune, good fortune, when does your love end?

"You'll never know, dear."
I slide into my chair,

A desk of devotion,
A place to prepare.

With my new friends around me:
Browning, Baudelaire.

"How much I love you."

The poet eats the sunshine,
Drinks the rain.

Right now it is Friday,
And the fog left a name

Of creaky wood according
to stormy seas.

Water-logged, full of memories,
Privileged pier to proficiency.

Discipline, a dangerous mistress, prone to agree.
How many rest in testament,

Buried at the bottom of the sea.
Now, let's test this sentiment:

The cold winter breeze
Will not remember you freezing,

According to, is a dangerous thing.

Now, to each their own according
To each their own new day.

Now who am I ignoring,
What could cause me to refrain?

A world complete with feelings,
Silent sound of time surrounds.

Wheels within wheels.
Sweet symphony,

Ludicrous melody,
Simple sound.

Whatever, just build from the ground up.
Stick to your gut, kid,

Guns up the sleeve,
Grown in the silence.

Now, just do as you please,
A pearl is passive

So, what do you see?
A tumbleweed, or something more troubling?

Whatever, just let me be.
This one or that one,

In my own bed I sleep.
I've won and I've lost,

I've been to hell again and again,
Only one thing remains:

The song to the wind.
Like, I say something and

It is lost once again.
Angles my dear friend,

Range-less Peer,
Tried and True.

I have no expectations,
Paint me red and blue.