| POETRY |
| MISSED THE SUN So muddled the greyness of the day my thoughts too were oblivious to the clearing sky and though pouring rain was evident now puddles were all that were left where tiny ripples from even tinier bugs silently reflected the dappling clouds as they lifted revealing the warm peach sun but went undetected by the day and me together mired in bleakness wading through the clinging mud and struggling to escape the hold it had on us by Sheryl McCurdy |
| IN SHADOWS OF GREEN I LIE On the floor of the forest beneath a carpet of sage my heart flails weakly in repose barely beating in the cool of the shade slowly dying no inspiration to nudge the pulse to race instead harboring a grudge and denying the light from shining on the face pine needles are this hearts lifeless grave as my rest here has veered eternal and so it seems I shall end my days here in the shadow of trees and covered in green by Sheryl McCurdy |
| HOLLOW CHIME On a dismal day wrought iron sadness fenced me in and mourning doves did not mourn twas I that dipped my head and hung so low tears transclucent gems falling to my knees I wept caged within the tangerine brilliance of daylight did not shed no, nary a single dewy drop fell to wet the earth only I did anquish engulfed my very bones washing away the marrow to leave me bamboo chiming in the wispy breeze a hollow echo in a muffled serenade this bright and sunwarmed dismal day By Sheryl McCurdy |
| FEAR It's four a.m. do you hear death rattling is she calling out your name can you hear the clock striking once then twice then two more times again the warning tones are shrieking can you feel the chill do you hear the birds give wing in sudden fearful flight can you sense that time is slipping as she hurries through the night she can creep into a room so stealthily on silent treads of silk her gift to those with searing brows a lily kiss of scent an artist is she with a palette of sallow grays and blues she fills in planes of agonal faces with anemic fading hues her touch on skin relieves the blood of pulsing warmth her eyes are wells of deepness that beckon souls to jump ...pray what sound was that the scurry of a rodents feet the skitter of some blowing leaves or could it be the kiss of death drawing ever near her message lips to give to you through lily scented breath by Sheryl McCurdy |
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| MIDI: Diary of a madman |