Cerebral weather patterns of

melancholy drizzles and

freezing fearful flurries amongst

the thought filled thunderheads spun

up in confusing whirlwinds of

fanciful sun rays melting the

frozen wastelands of slumbering spirit.

 

My mind is changing seasons,

Spring sings in my soul.

I can hear the whispers,

speeches of wonders.

 

No such thing as Maybe flowers.

My April sorrows

pass with each tomorrow.


MEW

Photo by Gabriele Diwald on Unsplash

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