Stage Left
The sun was too bright,
the clouds too puffy.
A susurrant breeze
strummed the grass
with too soothing
a melody.
A sharp struck blow
and groan,
blood fans out
in a mist,
runs in rivulets,
settles in pools.
An hour till sunset
and the sun hangs low,
longing to disappear.
It was too lovely,
its arc across the sky
demanded a response.
And that is our fundamental flaw as a species–is it not?
(You struck a bull’s-eye here!)
” It was too lovely, its arc across the sky demanded a response.” Love this. Brilliant, thank you.
Humans have to have drama and conflict, eh?