irises

 

The wind plays

its solo song,

sadly sweeping

through the air.

Swaying between

the weeping trees.

A symphony.

A sympathetic display.

The way

the branches bow,

in painful mourning

at the loss of day.

 

The whistling sound echoes

through this graveyard town.

No people around.

Just concrete

and steel

tombstones.

Monuments

that conceal

the previous

days ordeals.

 

The eerie swirl

as the wind

whirls.

Whooshing

through alleyways,

kicking cans

with invisible feet.

Brushing the debris

of yesterday,

into a pile

of loose memory.

 

As the sun rises,

the wind plays,

in its own private paradise.

It rustles 

through the irises

in open fields,

causing them to dance.

The long night-time over,

the wind waves

and with

wide open arms

it embraces the day.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"

100+ all new poems not shared here before.

https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle