“You feast and rest in a maleficent crib”, they mouthed.
But,
Did they ever unveil it to us?
The augmenting glamour swathed in calls of first light.
Warm fuzzies cloaking Wordsworth’s yellow daffodils.
Chocolate brown Sierra squealing with crispy spring zephyr.
Snow white foams composing dreamy poems on azure vista.
Tropical twilight winking at clumps of Sugar Maples.
Turtle shells caked in damp sands burying tales of our bygones.
Bracing meadows whispering muddled lives to slow down.
Monsoon sprinkles unwrapping beige countryside, drop by drop.
Kaleidoscopic gardens of giddy butterflies and fluttering gazes playing hide and seek.
They never unveiled to us all of the gigantic grandeur.
Instead,
All they had flaunted to us was,
Hair raising ripples of bloodthirsty Neptune sea.
Glum clouds smothering silken rhythm of bright Italian afternoon.
Autumn jars of repugnance entombed in Cypress shaded churchyards.
Peppered moths looming around to garner wide awake whimpers.
Fallen angels strewing venom in sunken teal veins.
Nightfall taking a seat beside the moon to tarry for a harrowing doom.
Another Oakwood coffin declaring a premature demise.
Yet,
We do see the concealed,
We do see and sense;
The power of coruscating glints of pure souls amid biting thorns.
Clusters of sanguine Irises guarding us from turning dim.
Our world of hope whistling within.
The Ode to a Jovial Life that we merrily sing.
So, turn around;
Turn Around to Look Again,
“Can you still call our Blue Sphere grim?”
