Monday Graves Poem by N.K. Trevor

The graves of the cold Monday morning decent
beneath the dull chills of the cumulate mist
Scaring the wavering happiness into a dist…
The wild scornful clouds cradling from the
east, gather ease, in a manner of least…
To darken the more, with anger; which has
now clumped into downy ball of fist
Pre-positioning, what – omen;
it is yet to bring into our midst…
A day that in its gloom infancy, is already
deceased…