I mentioned that my two most common topics for poems are clouds and driving because planes and cars are boring. This is a poem written on a car trip about clouds. Make of that what you will. I was going to continue this the next morning about the sunrise, but I didn't see the sun come up. By the way, I'm hoping to post a series of two posts on beauty soon, so stay tuned!
Sunset Gold 4/30/2010
The stretching clouds are sifting light,
They're sifting out the harsher whites
and desert yellows, just like clumps from softly powdered flour.
And all that's left is sunset gold,
And buttercups from worlds old
forming in a gently drifting ever distant shower.
The golden fingers touch the hills
Of yon' horizon as it fills
the earth with glowing, dusky dimness, hour after hour.
The crimson fingers slowly die,
Their source lets out a silent cry,
the warm caress becomes a grip that slowly loses power.
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