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Out of the Blue
An erie blue glow cascades itself upon sun-washed walls.
The television projecting itself through-out the quaint Mississippi home.
Passer-by's only glance upon the hill-- hurried by their own homely thoughts.
It's dark outside at 7pm.
The winter days turn themselves in early.
No lights on in the home-- only the distinct blue, shadowy movements of a local station, sharing another re-run.
An old white pickup sleeps in the yard, holding onto feverish dreams and finally giving into start the next frosty morning.
A routine for the owner, for the truck, for the home.
Every minute passing by, lowering the value of those once new items; as the world keeps burying itself in the weight of bitter gold.
Tired, the erie blue fades as the less thought of turn in till morning-- the same routine as yesterday. The same as tomorrow.
