Tellurian Repose

It is beautiful, melancholy, sad. It is the ecchymotic sky at twilight, of the cold winter,

and the starkness of black trees.

It is the frost upon white marble,

it is the heavy lid of a coffin;

it is the sound of a closing sarcophagus

behind the clang of wrought iron mausoleum doors.

It is here that I find myself in tellurian repose.

Amaranthine and imperishable, cerulean, everlasting, breathless,

bloodless,

awake.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s