Wednesday 20 April 2016

2 Poems by Kevin Mazzola

A Summer Storm 

The rhythmic rain
the landscape
into an old gray film,
a motion picture
of naturalistic
thirst and revitalization
of gloom and serenity. 

Trees droop
with the added weight
of their centennial lives,
but they glisten
with the pure
stream of moisture
their tired leaves. 

They seem greener
in this dreary repetition
of droning pattering,
and although
the light has been
from the sky
I feel it infuse my marrow
and fuse with my eyes
making the gray
a little

Inferno on a Breeze 

The breeze is positively glistening, 
burning like rebel diamonds
tossed into the sky at high noon,
burning like the whites of your eyes
scrambling for truth,
we lie awake,
at a loss for words
but not for thoughts
as our
eyes become crystalline
and the moon
into shards of reflective glass—
every blink is a dream
and every flickering star
is an absent-minded reminder
of the time we’ve wasted. 

The breeze is positively glistening,
and the tree I lie under is home,
with every window open wide,
capturing light
as if it were the last relic on Earth
and sharing it as if we’ve learned
that we are our own last hopes. 

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