Today is Monday too

It falls from the sky
Despite the lack of clouds
No torrent, no rain, nothing but sunshine
And in the lack of darkness
There is nothing else

Time––malevolent benefactor––
Marches by with the sun,
The crescendo creaking calls
Of impatient insects and
Trees bristling with separation

The bright day and burning Sol
Express no warmth despite
So much heat, deforming the air
Which bubbles like blisters
On the hours themselves

Mounting discomfort
Growing disconcertion
Swelling anxiety
Oscillating contentment
Newborn disenchantment

Eyes closed, blood-black vibrates
With memories of images,
Recollections of beauty
That resonate weakly
Against uncertainty

The artist creates light
With its absence, creates
Beauty from the desolation,
The simplicity of ink and paper
Regardless of words or symbols

But what does that wisdom say
When there is only light, and all
One can feel is desolation
Beauty burned away in the brightness
Of all these idle afternoons?

Advertisement