These Days


Photo from blog: More than runnning

In these days of
tortured color
when the dry skies
burn orange with wind
tears fall with little sound
on feathers lightly
shed for warmth where
no warmth is found
where this twisted shell
that tosses fear with
blackness flavored eyes
blends day and night
figures dance periphery
falling to feet trembling
flowers, gold and violet
lie crushed beside the
broken table
syllables trapped
in splinters
armor adorned
thoughts echo off
the empty walls.