These Days Poem by Peter S. Quinn

These days are in mist
All fading away
Through the try and twist
Of the evening play
Above sky of dark
With its wondering eye
And the open spaces spark
Of the twinkling sky

There‘s no boundary between
These lines in line
Where blue is faraway seen
That is hard to define
All the people are going
Somewhere in their religion
Either fast or down slowing
From begin of their origin

All the dreams are thru rays
From the skies beyond
In their colorful trays
That has yet to be dawned

Floating images gone by
Possessing something shown
With its reason in its high
Not to our reality known
Playful some days to come
To the turnings of seasons
Where shades of all is from
Without giving their reasons

All the dreams are true rays
From the skies beyond
In their playful many ways
That life has not yet donned