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Dusk
The crystalline silhouette,
Of ice-encased branches,
Are reaching toward the Heavens,
Like diamond fingers,
Casting their brilliance upon the earth.
The air is deathly still,
Save for the cry of
Hobo-like crows,
Awaiting the fatality of Winter’s power,
To fall upon the stark backdrop of a white shroud.
The icy air is strangely scorching in its wrath,
Frozen in a silent scream, that can only be heard
By the crows, who talk back to it in mocking tones.
The blanket of nightfall settles like a leaden tarp,
Spanning a portrait of nature’s majesty,
Like a chameleon, changing background colors,
To bear an evening’s velvety, crisp masterpiece.
Poem Submitted by Cristine M. DiMario
Gray Sun
Newly raised forest heights, palatial to bestill my thudding heart,
Solely lie as a patriarch of sins, a parallel of contriteness, yet,
Not to be halted from the blasphemy of this broken song.
The stillness of hushed wind, dances circles upon the earth,
Yielding within the air’s lofty palms, a softness of deceit,
For lucidity has bequeathed, upon shaking bended knee,
Fruitful bounties of tempestuousness,
Entangled within dark, sinewy roots,
That strangle the life-force lying beneath,
Are borne of simplistic, majestic nature,
Yet lie to be scorched upon their pretty, painted faces,
Their colors frozen in abominable expression,
Shadows spill forth from darkened skies, to scatter a shroud upon the dew,
That kisses newborn grass, floating upon the lead of steadfast life,
Toward the distant, darkened horizon,
Her scenery infinitely fading, from white, to black,to ash.
Poem Submitted by Cristine M. DiMario
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