Through prisms of Moroccan glass
rainbow colours shed,
white walls are brushed with pastels
the storm has passed, has bled.
The shutters still are shuttered,
the gutters blackened full,
the forecast lies un-uttered
the lunar tide still pulls.
The silence falling soft now
a breeze whispers to the calm,
the count is for the cost now
yet un-accounted goes the harm.
© Wolfgar 2020
Neatly expresses sadness for but acceptance of the damage from an event that’s passed. So many events come to mind.
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Thanks John much appreciated.
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Stunning second stanza, David. As, John had mentioned, the resignation in this piece, the simple observations and the eventual picking up of pieces lends itself to so many events and situations. I would say that this piece is something that I will return to when a bit of solace is called for. Thanks for this piece.
D
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