blank landscapes

by Bethany Lee

Sunday; Saturday
The sacred, whatever-you-feel-like-doing days.

The breath on your neck ceases;
strong sighs of relief follow.

The alarm clock wonÂ’t yank you suddenly
From the middle of a masquerade,
Leaving your eyes jaded to the newly found sunlight.

A shower melts the dreams away
Leaving your color-washed canvas blank.

There were landscapes there lastnightÂ…


Posted on 09/04/2008
Copyright © 2024 Bethany Lee

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Max Bouillet on 07/28/10 at 02:20 AM

The picture at night is always more alluring than what is painted in the morning. Morning has that pesky reality feel that erases the nights magic. Morning shakes the etch a sketch clean. Great read!

Posted by Rachelle Howe on 11/26/12 at 05:31 PM

You have such a poignant voice in this. I dig. I really like the imagery.

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