The song of the leaves
whistles, or softens
colors drab like
a glass of water.
The day is old,
by which I mean
shipped out this morning
for it had started to turn;
prow nudging the pier
like a new deck hand
or a fish-eyed dock cat.
The song of the sea
calls, or crests
colors vibrant like
sawdust covered floors.
The sky is overcast,
by which I mean
I wore it like a coat;
and the tide is still,
by which I mean
my smallest movements
shook stones from my pockets,
dancing circles
and breaking glass;
but the day was young,
by which I mean
I measured it in coins,
cold metal portraits,
beheaded kings
holding tight my eyes.
Written for @thewritersblock's linked poetry contest, check it out! Running a bit against the deadline because of edits, but there's still time if you wish to make a submission.
also written for free-verse poetry maven @d-pend's revolutionary poetry initiative The 100 Day Poetry Challenge [Advanced Group] undertaken for Steemit School where @d-pend will be hosting a daily poetry show at 6 PM GMT.
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