Submissions by cinnamongirl031

What thought for life
torments me enough
to keep from flinging
this dismal soul—
gift-wrapped in flesh—
from these towered heights?

The days were swift
and gone.
Fear grips
this would-be stone,
preventing the fall
that the will now fights.

“Blessed is the Lord,”
my heart defends,
what my mind has opposed,
hammering this hesitant,
restless soul with
heavy,
leaden
blows.

Fog seldom settles over this small city,
At times it pauses in early morning hours
to listen to the tranquil cooing
of pottering pigeons.

The shadowed sky appears comatose
as it breeds an air of dissolution
against the hypnotic setting
of a sleeping city.

Citizens awaken to the pale glow of mid-dawn.
The sky which had harbored
the heavy, leaden fog
now leaves only a whisper of grey
as evidence of its existence.