This was meant to be about a normal day.

The Sky

War on high, permeates the morning sky,

Luminous warrior clashes with gray,

Below, the wind forces out a sad sigh,

The lonely tree cries brown in its decay.

In another sky, outlined in deep red,

Luminous warrior lies, his heart still,

The wind sighs in lament over the dead,

The tree, a solitary ashen hill.

Here you see, my outward reality,

Seen through a grudging veil of ceaseless gray.

Here you do not see, the sky within me,

And I, made of ash, will be blown away.

Now with a sigh, shallow and shuddering,

I am lost in the wind’s gentle mutterings.