pen-sketched

He halts his midnight wings
And rests his tired claws
On the slacked telephone wire
By the old street far north
Gazing fondly through the mist
At his pen-sketched impending dawn
Which, partial to the world,
Would leave him and fellow storms
In their paint-less, grey-scale paradise.

T. E. Pyrus

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