if the skys could talk they would
Whisper in hues.
an ancient language of the spirited muse, that once spoke in iridescent truths. the sky would tell of how the spirits drew with colors and sounds,oh the sounds that moved colors Upon featherd tounges absolute, no confusion, all truth painting through
Im sorry the sky had sung a sodden tune for you no longer hear even you. or feel as words chariot, along ancient reassuring routes. our voices once a woven tapestry in our iridescence looms. We speak in the Grey's of the confused. now a language of a talking race toward muted views
Sound Scapes and colors bruise in louder blackness nothing grew,
So to in slumbers, spilled underneath thier spirited noose
There is an ancient language of wisdom that the iridescent spirit always knew
© Sean Windsor