PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sleepy mornings evolve into overcast afternoons.
Tentative raindrops question their decent from the heavens and

the canopy we used to hide beneath is gone,
vanished,
leaving us vulnerable.

     This all seems so familiar.

Lines on a paper smear, 
become blurred as seraph tears fall a thousand miles,
landing on our tongues:

questioning –
forever questioning what lies between the here and now and

the electronic hum of the potters wheel and my hands.

I used to confuse memories with dreams:
past life flashes,
gone before they’re fully realized.

The memory plays on my tongue,
dances behind my eyelids,
leads me down a path almost familiar.

     Am doomed to replay this scene?

Black and white smear,
blur.
     Welcome to the gray area.