Comatose day dreams out of dust speckled windows
ill-luminated by calico clouds and a sad sickly sun.
Lactose moonlight washes out all the vagueness
of our deconsecrated circadian existence.
Once wild sails now moored to something morose
where settled is the antithesis and absence of fun.
Feelings we harboured of silence and safety
are ones we abhor, now we are bored.
Comments about this poem (Calico Clouds by Alexander Hawkins )
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