the sun never shines when i write;
thus, i never write when it shines.
and can i be blamed for it's violent
nature? deciding to hide from me
behind the clouds as the moment
i pick up a pen approaches?
can i be blamed that the moon seeks me
so blindly, while the sun clings
to it's backside to hide from me?
so silently i walk,
so quietly i talk.
so respectful to not disturb the days-
so that others may find the rays
that elude when i tiptoe too close-

i find the night. the rain. the fog-
o, the inconsistencies of beauty!
painting with my brush,
a portrait of a world that never shines.

04/23/2003

Posted on 04/24/2003
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams