Tinged with pink, I lie here
My sunset is my beginning.
And my colors bleed through their confusion
to seek the calm of quiet evenings’
ending.
Sighted with blue, I open sleeping eyes
And see through false geography
The landscape that lies with errant paths
The sky that cries with the dreams
of angry birds.
Rose red of my heart, I bleed for days forgotten
And the lost lips of children
Cry silently for the light of day….
Stephen Bolles
All rights reserved
Some time in the mid-’80s