Friday, July 1, 2011

A Storm

Do you think I'm beautiful as I weep?
I do.

Never have eyes met such green reflections,
for light has never shined upon them.

They sit still as pools of blue
in fair weather as you sail.

You embark blindfolded, embracing the calm.

But drops begin to fall.

A storm receives and pulls you in.

Still blue pools turn to green,
and strong winds unveil your eyes.

You see me.

Turn from softly crashing waves and whispers,
and sail to storms of green.

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