The sky is orange. It’s dark but it’s orange. At least that’s what it appears to be, looking out of my window passed the burglar bars and into this thing they call the night- this sinister phenomenon of the sky. This defibrillator seen to be restoring the order of sin and adventure to once stilled hearts. Sadness, seduction, rage, miscommunication, mistake, malice. We’ll hear their voices in the street. But at the sight of the rising sun, all will be made well or excused and we will wonder; what is it about the orange sky.
Tag Archives: poem
I loved him because he made me feel beautiful on the inside.
You see I’m not. I’m not very beautiful on the inside.
But he was.
And I learned from him.
And I became more beautiful.