A cold sharp light
Cuts up the gray sky
Until it bleeds blue.
The birds get confused.
Their loud chattering
Sounds like panic.
On the wet grass
A shadow settles in
Like a dazed snake.
So much light
Makes me squint
Through my depression.
My mood craves gray,
Not this damn
Blue blood.
Charles Deemer
"The struggle itself ... is enough to fill a man's heart." --Camus
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"Remarkable" (London Screenwriters Workshop)
Poetry and literary blogging now published at A WRITERLY RETIREMENT (hot link)
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