The Grey Country

Weeping skies over the gray country

Mourn all promises the dead cannot keep

And wash away ink from the pages of a recycled soul

Ready again for the printing press

Follow the type from death to birth

Through dawns unrisen and days undone

A borrowed life singing songs of ritual not written

With a voice that once belonged to the wind

And eyes lost in first visions of color

Pouring out of a new-opened sky

Out in the gray country with arms outstretched

It stands, skin bare, feeling raindrops for the first time

Coming up on the Winter Solstice in a couple of days. What are your thoughts on certain days of the year having some sort of meaning/power that others don’t? I’m not a fan of astrology, but I know many people are!

Photo by Dương Nhân from Pexels

10 responses to “The Grey Country”

  1. Your poetry is awe inspiring, truly beautiful words that evoke all sorts of thoughts for me. Love the photography as well. Talented photographer you joined your prose along side of which also makes my head jump to all sorts of places. Thank you. Love ❤️ Joni

    Liked by 1 person

  2. On certain days people’s attention spans are united to a common communicating theme and when that theme is eternal there is power at chemistry…peace and the celebration of knowing. Something is understandable to you already about this.

    This poem about a person that becomes separated from Always is describing something that happens inside what I know to call the elevator shaft – a dimension for non appreciating change. Not interesting, but necessary for some to understand how they are alive and conscious to part of something not participating at knowledge or celebration.

    Liked by 1 person

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