Lain out on the rough concrete, their eyes followed the featureless serenity of the overcast drapery that composed the morning sky, lost in the putrid existence reminiscent of the murky mass above. Living their lives in the monotone of disinterest, well aware of the cancerous depression of these late winter weeks. The grass was damp and glowing deep green, infecting the world around it with it’s swelling hue, humid and overbearing, the world around us seemed to press and mold us as it would clay to emerge in new form for the sunnier months. With our blank stares we lived thoughtlessly in waiting for the more blessed days of spring, where life was born again, and love was discovered anew. But until then, we were only the undead.Awaiting the ignorance that accompanied happiness, well aware that ignorance, was and is bliss.
My dumpy winter poem
May 18, 2010