He opens the door

Of his rickety old hut,

And pushes the door

Behind him shut.

He looks into the distance,

Through the pouring rain,

Looks down at his leg,

And groans in pain.

The trees are blowing,

Furiously,

And he walks along,

Curiously.

He follows the path,

That leads past the town,

He walks with haste,

On his face is a frown.

As he nears the swamp,

A bad aroma meets him,

As he falls backward,

He remembers he can’t swim.

As he flails in the bog,

With no chance to get out,

He says his final prayers,

Those prayers filled with doubt.

He closes his eyes,

And he gasps for a breath,

Then he sees a blur,

Passing overhead.

His head is submerged,

His arms reaching for land,

When suddenly he stops,

As someone grabs his hand.

He looks up in a daze,

And peers into the eyes,

Of the girl in which,

He used to despise.

Cyan Skies

Sitting beneath that tree,

With the crisp breeze floating behind you,

Memories.

What is it that makes your mind wander?

The silence?

The solitude?

Or maybe what he just said to you?

You look around,

You squint, though it’s not sunny.

Crickets chirp,

But you can’t hear them.

Your mind is all that speaks,

Reminding you of your thoughts.

You feel like the only person on this Earth,

Everyone else is gone,

For this peace is just too real.

And those cyan skies you knew so well,

Had changed.

Your thoughts become the atmosphere,

They engulf you in a trance,

You thought you could control.