I look out at the sky.
This sky that, at night,
The island makes so strange.
It changes ever so much,
As much, as does the moon.
Sum nights blue, maybe,
With a few stars, pinpoints,
In the night.
But after it takes another form.
This night in particular is strange.
I go out standing
Looking up from the edge
By the watery containment area.
There is in small amount:
Blue,
Or should i say blue-grey.
(It takes more the part grey
Than the part blue of the hue.)
But of this as i said,
Of this there is little.
The rest, well that’s the strange.
There is a glow, but no
(…dare i say it?)
But no showing of the moon.
It is yellow, whitey,
Sum color not liked to be seen.
And the rest is what’s weird,
It’s what’s out of place,
It is the strange, out of form,
Pieces of sky which i Love to,
Hate.
It is a glowing red:
Radioactive
Chemical spill
City polluting
RED!
The sky is strange on the island.
The sky gives me light to write,
Though it is past twelve in the morning.
The sky here is strange.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Miztrebor

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.