Roiling puffs, in streaks, spread
boiling over in bleak blue above,
drown the skies in their dreary gray,
strangling hue from abandoned roadsides.
Cold, thick air wavers, flows
twisting and howling, then fading;
a lightless river beneath a muffled sun
washing our will away with its weight upon us.
The drip-drop chases footsteps away
silencing the bustle, leaving pavement cleared
where brilliant, bountiful hordes would stand before.
Where they fear to tread today.
In empty world, quiet, quivering
with ranks of men in shelter, sorrowed
mourning an unlit morning, I marvel
at a murky, mellow, sunless sky
trudging through drizzle with a forgotten smile.
Conformity and Tradition
13 hours ago