Monday, August 17, 2015

Hook line sinker

It’s early in the afternoon

Of a cool august day

And the cotton clouds linger

Over the hills of the Levant-

 

The scene is a bit murky

For the city covers its

Polluted skin across the horizon-

 

Along the pine valleys

Of quiet random towns,

The mild breeze swirls through

Whistling

All the way to the city shore-

 

The airport strips are visible from the top

And the breeze seems to flow non- stop

Until it reaches the poet of the sea-

He lies in wonder

Of what the future may be


Of what his future may mean.


13-8-2015


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