A Shade’s Observation
Scars, Book One, Entry Eight
Drifting between the sea and the sky,
A raft floats not, nor does it fly.
The Shade, once a seer, sits in contemplation,
They no longer listen, clouded with hesitation.
As the Muse’s lament echoes silent,
The horizon swirls with gold, emerald, and violet.
The city—dreary, dingy, cozy—sways, blurred and stained,
Ink bleeds into shadow, twisted grief, as the dreamer dreams pained.
Scars: re 1. Same city and dreamers with a new imagining, a new telling, a new perspective, or something. I have no idea where it goes. But whatever.