Grey Dawns
Was it just a partial eclipse,
that morning when ash-grey horses
pulled a dustbin sun
across a drab and dirty sky?
Contorted clouds
fell from distorted horizons,
light filtered fine filaments
through to a sedimentary world.
Early morning birds,
startled by this grimness,
ceased their celebrations,
their dawn chorus choked
in doubting throats
so that strange, false notes
would not flit grit music
over garden and lawn.
Sat at my grey dawn window,
in the lull before the storm,
I watched and wondered
when my world would end.
Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
Grey Dawns
rogermoorepoet 
I sure hope your life will be with us for a long time, Roger. And since I’m the senior citizen here and I plan to live at least 20 more years, don’t you even think about leaving this life. What would I do without your poetry, my dear friend.
As usual, this is outstanding. I’m learning much from you but still a fledgling who still needs a mentor.
LikeLiked by 1 person
When black thoughts arrive, I pull them out from the depths and watch them drown in the sunlight. Better out than in – that’s my motto. So, we will both hang on (and on) for as long as is possible!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Amen to that, my friend. I’m writing my black thoughts down and eventually might try to light a bonfire with the worst of them. Then again, they aren’t worth being arrested for starting a forest fire over. Probably just end up flushing them down where they belong!
LikeLike